50 Ways to Feel
by tromana
Summary: Jane/Lisbon oneshot collection based on the Fantasy Script's '50 Feelings' list. Final: Requiem: falling in love is possibly the worst thing they could have done.
1. Smug

**A/N:** So I'm back with another collection of oneshots. Let's be honest here, it wasn't going to take me that long though. This time, the prompt collection is 50 Feelings. It's another prompt list/prompt table from the Fantasy Script forum.

First oneshot is also an entry to the November Jello-Forever challenge.

Thanks to Miss Peg for betaing. She's started writing TM fanfic (predominantly for Rigsby/Van Pelt), I recommend it!

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **A Grain of Truth  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating: **T  
**Characters: **Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary: **He pretends, you know. Pretends he's moved on, pretends that he no longer acts as a traditional carnie does.  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine  
**Notes: **50 Feelings prompt: smug. Jello-Forever November 2010 Challenge response. Prompt: truth and lies. Beta'd by Miss Peg.

**A Grain of Truth**

He pretends, you know.

Pretends he's moved on, pretends that he no longer acts as a traditional carnie does.

Pretends that he's actually a better person than he was.

That's all deceit and lies. Anybody who has known him for long enough knows that all too well.

I've had my eye on him for years; for longer than he cares to imagine. If he knew that he had indeed been _my_ mark rather than vice versa, he would never have slandered my name. Never have even dared utter my pseudonym on live television.

He'd have simply been too scared.

That's one thing Patrick Jane always is: scared.

It's why he left the carnival; for fear that it was destroying his sense of humanity. Because he was scared that he was beginning to mix up who was a mark and who was not. Petrified of his dear father. That that was what he was going to become if he stayed for too long. Callous, ruthless, inhuman. Only living to play the lives of the innocent and to swindle money out of the honest.

He didn't like that. Neither did his wife.

But then again, as I said, he hasn't really changed.

Everybody is still a mark to him. There's still secrets and lies for him to exploit. Only now, the people whom he is loyal to are the police, the CBI. Teresa Lisbon and her little gang of agents. And instead of money, he is looking to get the truth out of people. To work out whether or not they killed somebody else.

Some may say this is a far more honorable way for him to use his skills. I say not.

Why?

Because he doesn't do it for the goodness. Not like those he works with. (Not _for_. There's an important difference. Regardless of what his superiors think, Patrick Jane could never work for anyone but himself. He looks for self gain, not to be doing what he does for the greater good.) He still enjoys exposing the darkest secrets of people whether or not they are guilty. There's so many people who now hold a vendetta against him simply because he's rubbed them up the wrong way during a murder investigation. This isn't his main priority thought. It's simply a diversion, a distraction, something 'fun' for him to do while he's focusing on the bigger picture.

What does he do it for, then?

Why, to get closer to me of course. I thought that much was obvious.

You see, I killed his family. To teach him a lesson, to remind him not to mix with things far too dangerous for his little mind handle. In an attempt to make him realize that for all the glitz, all the glamor, he was still the same old crooked boy wonder he'd always been.

I'd hoped he'd learn from that. Clearly, I was wrong.

He hasn't learned a damn thing.

He knows, though. Knows I'm keeping tabs on him.

Why else would I have bothered keeping Kristina Frye alive, rather than slaughtering her as I have already done with so many others? Really, what she's going through is a fate worse than death. It's rather poetic, considering she spent her life claiming that she could contact the dead. A fitting end for her as well; for she was proclaiming falsehoods just as much as dear Mr. Jane was.

But I digress. Frye is only a very small part of Jane's story. An example of what happens to those close to him.

She is half of the reason why he starts pushing Lisbon and her team way.

There's several methods he uses; they're all familiar with most of them.

Misdirection, planting of thoughts, acting cold and aloof, refusing to spend time with them and more. Making even more work than is entirely necessary for poor Lisbon by irritating everybody they have to deal with somehow. Even the insomnia is a lie. He needn't refrain from sleeping; he simply does so in order to make himself suffer and make himself even more unlikable. It's something he has actively cultivated as a means to an end.

Patrick Jane is a martyr to his cause.

He is determined to try and play me as I am him. Not that he'll ever succeed. He's always a few too many steps behind to beat me at my own game. Besides, the rules are constantly changing and he's always the last one to find out.

Using every trick in his arsenal works though. Lisbon has eventually had enough and persuades Agent Hightower to fire him.

Why? In one single case, he's racked up as many complaints as he usually does in a month. Caused a media backlash against the CBI for actively letting a criminal loose in order to lure out the head honcho of the crime gang. Upset several political leaders. Had poor Van Pelt hospitalized with a broken leg. Been generally unpleasant to Lisbon herself and the rest of her staff.

Finally and most importantly, he got an innocent victim _and _the perp unnecessarily killed.

That's not the kind of justice that Teresa Lisbon likes to see. Besides, the death of the young girl is too high a cost; even if it does mean that the criminal has gotten what he ultimately deserves.

The other half of the reason he pushes her away? It's because, despite his best intentions, he has fallen in love with her. He fears that since I dealt with Kristina, that Teresa Lisbon will be next. Jane is, after all, far closer to her than he ever was to Ms. Frye. Not that he'll ever admit to any of that out loud, least of all to her. Too full of self-importance and too busy persuading himself otherwise to be _that_ honest with her.

It's only a small victory for him.

On his last day with the CBI, he says he's sorry to leave. She admits that she'll miss having him at work, if only because she won't have as much paperwork to do.

That's as truthful as either of them can get with one another. They're too busy being so suspicious of each other to ever be completely frank with one another. Teresa Lisbon gets hurt simply because he has to protect her in the long run. Be her knight in shining armor, regardless of how convinced she is that she doesn't need protection, least of all from him.

But at least he's done it. At least he's proven he cares about somebody who isn't himself. He's finally done one good thing in his life.

Because you know what?

That's the last honest thing he'll ever do.

end


	2. Suspicious

**A/N:** This is a (slightly) belated birthday fic for shoppingluva91. She supplied me with some prompts - I hope you enjoy what I've done with them.

Thank you to: lil smiles, Famous4it, raquelvalente91, Jisbon4ever, watchyouwalk, PhoenixWytch, Viktorija, phoenixmagic1, Frogster, Divinia Serit and Koezh for reviewing _A Grain of Truth_. Also thanks to Miss Peg for betaing.

I also feel the need to add: no, I'm not about to become a fluff writer by any stretch of the imagination and yes, this is so far out of my comfort zone, it's unreal. I hope you enjoy it, nevertheless.

*waves at twin*

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Footprints in the Sand  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating: **T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary: **Four disparate moments. Four times when Jane and Lisbon find themselves getting inexplicably ever closer.  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine  
**Notes: **50 Phrases: suspicious. Written for shoppingluva91 - happy birthday!

This is also a response to prompt 015: memory over on mentalistprompt.

**Footprints in the Sand**

"It's your birthday."

"It is."

"Why aren't the team doing anything?"

"Why should they?" she asks, curious.

"They did last year."

"That was last year, this is now."

She doesn't like this conversation. For a start, Jane's reminding her that she's another year older, another year closer to forty. A lot has changed in the past year but at the same time, a lot is still exactly the same.

She's still a senior agent in the CBI.

Still single.

Still childless.

Years are ticking by faster than she cares to admit. The longer she leaves it, the less likely she'll be able to have her own children, her own family. Not that it's something she's desperate for. No, Lisbon is generally happy with her lot. It's just the idea that her decision, her choice to have children is slowly disappearing away from her.

No Bosco though.

She remembers his expression when he walked into her office exactly a year ago today. When he was greeted by a small, yet highly determined pony who had suddenly decided he wanted out. It still hurts, thinking of him.

She doesn't think it'll ever stop.

Lisbon looks at Jane and suddenly realizes that he's wearing a particularly devilish expression.

"The last time you looked like that, I had to find a home for a pony."

"And you did, didn't you?"

"Of course," she answers back, smiling a little. "But you're avoiding the question."

"You never asked one."

"What are you planning?"

"You'll never know unless you come with me."

"Jane…" her voice takes on a whining tone. "I have work to do. If I don't, Hightower'll…"

"Meh, let me deal with her."

"What have you done to her?"

Jane doesn't dare tell her, but Hightower's in on his secret. She may have been threatening Lisbon's job to try and get him to behave, but that didn't mean she couldn't also see the potential in her senior agent. Hightower is also aware that Lisbon is different, that she hasn't been the same since Bosco's death and is more than supportive of anything that might make her smile.

"Nothing. You wound me, Lisbon."

"Oh really?"

"If you come with me, I might forgive you for that horrendous slight at my good character."

"Fine, if only to shut you up."

She follows him through to the bullpen and is honestly lost for words. It's nothing as grand or as ostentatious as a pony.

Instead, it's just herself and her three brothers standing in the same room for the first time in a decade.

That tops a pony every single time.

xxx

"They're playing our song."

Jane looks over at Lisbon expectantly, a smile written across his features. He watches, intrigued as she fights the urge to roll her eyes. She always looks so frustrated at moments like this, as if she's torn between wanting to return the grin or slap him senseless.

His track record, thus far, is approximately fifty-fifty.

Lisbon listens carefully, catches the odd note hanging in the air. It doesn't take her long to identify it, why would it? She had already informed Jane that it's one of her favorites quite some time ago. At that moment, he'd gotten under her guard and somehow managed to coerce her into dancing with him.

"Oh please. Like this is our song."

"We danced to it. If that doesn't make it our song, I don't know what does."

"Going by that train of thought, that means some people have a hell of a lot of songs."

"You say it likes it's a bad thing."

"Why are you being so… sentimental, anyway?"

"I dunno. You want to dance?"

"Jane…"

"Please?"

The tone of his voice makes it hard for her to resist; he knows exactly how to get under her skin, how to make her do exactly what he wants. It bothers her and she knows she should try to be more resistant at times. But Jane's so broken and appears so dependant on her at times, that she just cannot help but bend to his whims.

Besides, what harm would indulging in yet another dance do?

She slips into his arms comfortably yet again. It's all too easy to do, to feel safe and secure there. Realistically, she's usually the one doing the looking after, being the one in charge. Sometimes, it's just nice to relinquish…

"Ouch, woman, you're stepping on my toes."

"I am?"

"Yeah. And you're leading. That's _my_ job."

"Sorry. But…"

"You have terrible control issues."

"So do you!"

"You let me lead last time."

"Well, last time, I was imagining you were that… what was it?" she pauses, racking her brains for the specific memory. "That mean, cold-hearted guy I always worshipped from afar."

"And you're not this time?"

"Nope."

Jane smiles. Somehow, he's glad to hear it. It's progress, at least. Or rather, it's the closest that he's going to get to hearing an admission that she actually trusts him, of sorts. Even if she can't quite rid herself of her control issues, not even for three minutes or so.

xxx

They're walking away from the crime scene.

Yet again, a psychiatrist has managed to get his way under Lisbon's skin. She's feeling agitated and irritable and it's hardly surprising.

Jane knows better than most just how much she hates shrinks; she's only ever had bad experiences with them. Especially so with Carmen, who attempted to frame her for murder.

He finds it easy to forgive her for that. Were he in her shoes, he'd feel exactly the same. Instead, he merely likes toying with them. Just because he hasn't been professionally trained in how to manipulate the human mind, it doesn't mean he isn't as good, if not, better at playing them at their own game.

However, she's being more than a little bit prejudiced. Uncharacteristically, she's letting her own experiences cloud her usually sound judgment. Just because the good doctor is a creep, it doesn't mean that he is a murderer.

Either that or…

"You can't honestly believe that he's guilty."

"I can and I do."

"You don't, you're just playing devil's advocate. You don't want to admit that, yet again, I'm right and you're wrong."

"No," she retaliates, not really in the mood for this. "He's definitely involved somehow."

"Liar."

"You know what? Bite me, Jane."

"If you insist."

Carefully, he takes hold of her right hand and singles out a finger. For half a second, he stares at it and Lisbon is convinced he's changing his mind. That the idea of actually doing exactly what she says is just ludicrous to the extreme. Besides, she didn't mean he should _literally_ do it. It was just something to say in a moment of annoyance.

When he actually puts the finger in his mouth and lightly nips at it, she's completely and utterly taken aback.

Only Jane would ignore every single common-sense instruction and instead follow the ridiculous ones that nobody really meant.

She snatches her hand back quickly, regretting that she didn't do it sooner.

Three days later, when they arrest the psychiatrist as an accessory to murder, Lisbon cannot help but feel a little bit triumphant at the fact she's at least partially right.

xxx

"I need you."

His voice almost breaks as he whispers the words down the phone. The sound almost breaks her heart at the same time.

Since when did she get so attached to him anyway?The thought doesn't stop Lisbon from grabbing her keys before she even has a chance to say goodbye to him. She's already in her car by the time her cell phone makes it into her pocket.

Briefly, she realizes that Jane now has her at his beck and call. Surprisingly enough, she's completely unconcerned by that. Instead, she focuses on the road and drives straight to his apartment. It's a journey she's already taken several times and more and more frequently in recent history.

It's strange how you can inexplicably slip into somebody else's life, barely noticing what's happening. She wonders just when it was that she realized she needed him in her life. Somehow, she cannot quite put her finger on it. Eventually, she surmises that it's just a culmination of recent events and realizing just how well they work together.

He's already standing on his doorstep when she gets there.

It's lightly drizzling with rain and as soon as he sees her park, Jane closes the distance between them.

By the time she's standing, his hands are already cupping her cheeks lightly. Swiftly, before she even comprehends what he's doing, his lips cover her own. Lisbon feels as though her legs are going to buckle under her own weight, but Jane supports her. His tongue darts out, wetting her lips slightly before demanding access, which she readily grants.

This is the first time they've actually kissed. For years, they've been close, in something almost simulating a relationship, but before now, neither dared to instigate something more. Lisbon knows that this is reckless, foolhardy and yet, it's also the most romantic thing anybody has done for her in years.

There's a serial killer after him, after them both probably. He's probably the worst person in the world for her to get attached to.

And yet, inexplicably, she has.

There's been good and bad moments, but the same can be said for any relationship.

"What…?" she starts, but the sentence dies on her lips.

She's not even sure if she wants an explanation anymore. It could be because a ghost from the past reminded him that he still had a life worth living. Equally, it could have been that he had been dozing and had a nightmare of losing her. Or it could be any one of a thousand or more reasons.

Right now, it's unimportant.

Lisbon realizes that Red John's still out there, but at least Patrick Jane is finally beginning to let go and move on.

He's wiping the slate clean, clearing the footprints in the sand. It's still obvious they were there, once upon a time, but he's finally ready for a fresh start.

With her.

Together, they're stronger anyway.

end


	3. Lonely

**A/N:** Yes, I've been immersed in Big Bang stuff again. However, this was written as a break from Big Bang and on the train to London. I went to see The 39 Steps (and met Dianne Pilkington) this weekend.

Good news is, it'll soon be over and I'll be back to posting normally. Or is that really a good thing? I don't know.

Thank you to: Divinia Serit, yaba, watchyouwalk, PhoenixWytch, Jisbon4ever, raquelvalente91, lil smiles, shopping-luva91, Famous4it, Viktorija, Frogster, phoenixmagic1, hardly loquacious, The Mentalist Rules and Cathartes for reviewing _Footprints in the Sand_. Thanks also to Miss Peg for betaing.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **stop living in the moment  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating: **T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary: **She'd told herself time and time again to stop thinking of him.  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine  
**Spoilers: **Up to 3x08 Ball of Fire  
**Notes: **50 Phrases: Lonely and for prompt 037: alone on mentalistprompt. Written as a break from Big Bang. I think I deserve one every so often. Beta'd by Miss Peg.

**stop living in the moment**

She stopped and turned.

Nothing.

Teresa Lisbon shook her head; clearly she had been hallucinating again. Gotten so caught up in her own thoughts, her own feelings that she had confused that fine line between fantasy and reality.

But she could have sworn that…

Well. Obviously she had been mistaken. There was nobody following, stalking her. Why would they bother?

Least of all Patrick Jane.

He was out of her life for good and the sooner that she accepted that simple fact as reality, the better.

Otherwise, she was only going to drive herself insane.

xxx

When she woke, his name was dying on her lips.

Normally, she forgot her dreams instantaneously. Either that or immediately placed them to one side in order to focus on the day ahead and the task in hand. If she dwelled too much on them, she wouldn't be able to work proactively and that would never do.

This time, however, she needed no prompting or reminders. The thoughts just lingered, unwelcome and stifling. Lisbon knew exactly what she was thinking about moments before she awoke. Moments before her alarm clock rudely interrupted her slumber with its altogether too cheerful tones. And _why_. She always knew why.

Jane.

Of course it was him, why would it be anybody else?

She'd told herself time and time again to stop thinking of him. To pretend that he didn't exist or that she had never known him in the first place. It was for her own sake as much as anyone else's.

Only thing was, her subconscious had other ideas.

And try as she might, she had no control over her dreams whatsoever.

xxx

Another day meant another crime scene.

There was no rest for the wicked. Or those who dedicated their life to catching them.

With a heavy heart and a gentle sigh, she lifted the yellow tape and ducked underneath it. Lisbon hated it whenever kids were involved; it always seemed like a pointless waste of a life. It made her dwell on their lost potential, the futility of it all.

Sooner or later, everyone died.

It just felt like sometimes, it was a little too soon.

She always wondered how her mother had felt whenever she and the doctors she worked underneath lost a patient. If it was anything remotely like what she felt when faced with a dead child.

Despite only being a nurse, her mother probably blamed herself whenever a patient lost their battle against whatever illness, whatever injury. Though she hadn't been the one ultimately responsible for them, she still had some input. It was probably where Lisbon inherited some of her martyr-like characteristics.

Still, at least her job had purpose. She was there to work out who was responsible for cutting this life tragically short.

Her eyes scanned the crime scene and she tried to make note of the little details. To read between the lines. So many times in the past, their cases were solved by a small incongruity at the scene, something that was easily overlooked. Or if not solved by it, it gave them an important lead.

Normally, Jane did that for her.

Not anymore.

Besides, she'd become too reliant on him and his skills in the past. They had lost their way a little. Lisbon told herself she was a good cop and that therefore, she had exemplary policing skills. She didn't need him and could solve this one on her own.

Like she had before they had ever been introduced.

xxx

"She looks lonely," Van Pelt remarked to no one in particular.

Three sets of eyes fixated on their boss. Lisbon was pacing around her office, only pausing occasionally to rearrange something for what seemed like the thousandth time. She remained completely unaware of her team's attention and their concern.

"She has been since Jane left," Cho answered and the others nodded in agreement,

Each one of them wished there was something they could do about it.

They also knew, short of attempting to track down Jane, there wasn't.

xxx

The hot water scalded her skin.

Lisbon ignored the slight pain and instead, lathered up some soap. She'd been horrified by the explosion, genuinely feared for her life. Especially so when the building burst into flames and it was a struggle to get out alive.

If it hadn't been for Rigsby…

She shook her head and tried to stop thinking about it. Instead, she picked up a sponge and scrubbed viciously at her skin. The smell of smoke seemed to linger, as did the stench of gasoline.

Her knees buckled and she coughed a little. Helplessness was something she was keen to avoid at all costs. You couldn't always rely on other people to help you out of sticky situations and yet, every time she had nearly burned to a crisp, that was exactly what had happened.

Without Rigsby, without _Jane_, she wouldn't be here.

Choking back a sob, she cursed herself for her weakness, for her emotions. For remembering the slight quiver in Jane's voice when faced with Rachel's threats, for wondering how he'd have reacted if he'd been with them earlier today.

If the outcome would have been any different.

Really, she should have been grateful that the case had been solved. That the little girl's murderer had been caught. But she couldn't think of that, couldn't see the positives in the situation simply because of all the other overriding emotions.

Salted tears streamed down her face, mixing with the water pouring from the shower head. There was nothing she could do to stop it; she would just have to let it out of her system.

Later, she was simply grateful that her humiliating outburst happened in the solitude of her own bathroom.

xxx

Spring turned to summer, summer to fall and within the blink of an eye, it was already winter again.

The wind was bitter and slicing through Lisbon's jacket with practiced ease. She stared resentfully at the balding man in his late fifties, who just had to get himself killed outside. In this kind of weather, standing by a riverside, ankle-deep in mud, was one of the last places she wanted to be. Van Pelt kept shooting furtive glances in her direction and Lisbon let out a measured sigh. She wasn't about to fall down, she was fine, if a little cold.

It was just a normal day, a normal crime scene for them.

Nothing special whatsoever.

Eventually, the coroner wrapped everything up and Lisbon thanked her for her time. They had everything they needed and it meant that the body could be left for forensics to deal with. More importantly, it meant that she could find respite in the warmth of her SUV.

It was only when she called Hightower to update her on the situation that she noticed the date.

Exactly one year ago, Red John had been apprehended. The serial killer was now on death row.

It was also the day Jane left them for good.

What did he have left to give them? He'd always made it clear that he was only helping them out until Red John had been dealt with. She thought, occasionally, that they were closer than that. That he actually saw them as some kind of dysfunctional family.

Obviously, she had been wrong.

For the first time in a very long while, she found it didn't bother her much at all.

Instead, she merely shook her head and dialed Hightower's number. She had much more important things to do instead of getting caught up in the past.

xxx

The bullpen was silent.

Lisbon wanted it that way. She was happy to be working the graveyard shift alone. It was Christmas Eve and that meant she got to avoid having the festivities unwillingly thrust upon her, something she was keen to avoid.

She barely saw her family these days and surprisingly enough, it didn't bother her in the slightest. What was the point in forcing civility for a few hours a year just because society dictated they should? Besides, crime didn't stop just because it was the holiday season. If anything, it brought out the worst in people and meant that they needed to remain vigilant.

With a sense of satisfaction, she signed off yet another form. She was pleased that they managed to close the riverside murder case so quickly; it always felt good to achieve such a resounding win. Lisbon didn't even notice the door swing open.

"Hello, Teresa."

"_Jane_?"

xxx

They talked non-stop for hours.

They didn't even notice as the clock hand pulled past midnight, signifying the start of Christmas Day.

It felt as though no time at all had passed since they'd last seen one another. The bitterness and resentment had washed away from the moment he said 'hello' to her.

She'd known she'd missed him, of course she had. It was something she had been altogether far too aware of until the past month or so.

Now, Lisbon was just grateful to have him back in her life.

Whatever happened to them next would be something she was willing to deal with whenever it arose.

end


	4. Sad

**A/N: **Okay, here's where I make a massive admission. I realise I'm being to get a little samey as an author. So, I want prompts. Specifically, fluff prompts. I want something to try and make me so over reliant on angst - not that angst is a bad thing, everyone knows how much I love it. However, I really need to start expanding my horizons again. That being said, this piece is still dark. Because of recent events in my life, it's all I was able to write at this specific moment in time.

Thank you to: Jisbon4ever, watchyouwalk, Famous4it, Viktorija, PhoenixWytch, Frogster, lil smiles, phoenixmagic1 and boutondor for reviewing stop _living in the moment_. Also, a massive thank you to Miss Peg for betaing.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Constant Shadow of Death  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating: **T  
**Characters: **Lisbon (mild Jane/Lisbon)  
**Summary: **And that's just what she's doing. Going through the motions, I mean.  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine  
**Spoilers: **Up to 2x16 Code Red  
**Notes: **50 Phrases: sad; For 06: Naïve in prompt table I for mentalistprompt. Beta'd by miss_peg

**Constant Shadow of Death**

Grief.

Funny word, isn't it? Grief.

Means very great sadness, especially after the death of someone.

Though I guess, it can't just be any someone. Has to be somebody close to you for it to really mean a thing. Otherwise, it's just empathy, pity. There's nothing personal there. Could be feeling sorry for the man down the street, whose Gran's just died or a celebrity who has just miscarried.

It doesn't _hurt_.

Not the way it does when it's somebody who means something.

And that's where she's at right now.

Teresa Lisbon, that is.

You see her? Over there, in her office. If you peek between the blinds, then you'll see her. Yeah, that's the one. The woman with the hunched shoulders, the brown hair obscuring her face as she reads the form for the seventeenth time running. Why seventeen? Because she simply hasn't been able to focus on it.

Too distracted.

By grief.

Watch the way she swallows repeatedly. The way she grows increasingly distracted and then grows frustrated with herself for her lack of focus.

Look in her eyes.

It's cliché, I know, but they're usually alive. With sparkle, fire, whatever the hell you want to call it. Not that deadened look, which suggests she's merely going through the motions rather than actually living.

And that's just what she's doing. Going through the motions, I mean.

You see, she is exposed to death on a day in, day out basis. Thinks she's hardened to it, knows how to cope.

Besides, it's not as if she's been here before.

Her parents died when she was still young. Painfully so, even. Then there were grandparents, other elderly relatives too. She's been exposed to death so frequently that she believes that dealing with it should get easier.

She understands the motions now.

Shock, denial, bargaining, guilt, anger, depression, hope.

But she's naïve. Understanding the motions doesn't make it any easier. If anything, it makes it harder.

Why?

Because each and every time you go through it, each stage drags a little longer. Each time it's a little more painful because it's yet another person you've lost. Yet another person who you'll never see again.

Doesn't matter if it was too soon or about their time, it still hurts.

Right now, Lisbon is loitering somewhere between anger and depression.

She's angry because she believes she should have been able to save him. Her friend who died relatively recently. Within in the CBI headquarters. Angry with the medical staff for not saving him. Because, damn it, he had been on the road to recovery. He was getting better. And besides, they'd lied to her. She's no medic, but what the hell kind of an excuse is 'losing too much blood' anyway?

As for the depression, well, she's been like that for months. Since it happened, really. She's turning into a martyr for her cause. Has started declining nights out with old college friends, refusing to socialize with her work colleagues.

Stopped baiting Patrick Jane, even.

And that's saying something.

He's over there, on the couch.

Like Lisbon, he's still in the grieving process. However, instead of actively trying to work his way out of it, he's taken a completely different route to deal with it: 's not to say he can't think about other things, other people and isn't worried about Lisbon, nor trying to plot ways to break her out of this funk.

The crazy, supposedly life-affirming stunt he's recently pulled worked, if only for a short while, not that she'd admit it.

Or at least, she smiled a little. Mostly because she _really_ enjoyed punching him in the nose.

Which between you and me, is something she really deserved to do. The amount of crap he's thrown in her general direction, it's a wonder she hasn't snapped before now.

But that isn't the only ace Jane has up his sleeve. He has other plans too, ones that he's pretty damn certain will work.

Which is good really, considering that Lisbon has been grieving for longer than any normal person would in her shoes. But that's down to who she is, what she's already been through. It's only natural for her to focus on it for longer than average.

Though, not as long as Jane himself, of course.

However, there is a positive to this. It'll be over soon. She'll realize that she's been dwelling on this for far too long, that she's shutting people out and needs to rectify that. It's not healthy for her, unfair on those around her and really, there's a time and a place to move on.

She'll turn around that corner and soon.

How do I know?

It's because she's Lisbon.

And who am I? Just a blast from her past, a ghost if you will. Keeping an eye on her because frankly, who else will?

Apart from Mr. Jane, of course.

One day soon, things will get better for her.

Or at least, I hope they will.

end


	5. Guilty

**A/N:** So I'm still alive and still spoiler-free for the season finale, UK time. I'll have seen it 3 weeks today and still don't want to know about it. Been locking down on everything and writing Skins Big Bang fic in order to remain spoiler-free. It's all good fun really. Anyway, I'm slowly getting back into the swing of things writing-wise. Contemplating updating one of the my fics that are on hiatus (or some of your fluff!prompts), but we'll see.

Thank you to: watchyouwalk, Lizzybeth93, xxxBekaForEvaxxx, 24Mentalistlover, wickedshadow, Jisbon4ever, PJaneL, Viktorija, Divinia Serit, Famous4it, boutondor and bluecup94 for reviewing _Constant Shadow of Death_. Also to Miss Peg for betaing this.

One last note, I may be a little rusty. First Mentalist fic I've written in 5 months...

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Square One  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating: **T  
**Characters: **Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary: **If Jane had a dollar for every time somebody said 'it wasn't your fault', he still wouldn't have his wife and child back.  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine  
**Notes: **50 Phrases: guilty; For 13: downward spiral in prompt table I for mentalistprompt. Beta'd by Miss Peg.

**Square One**

He watched her simply because she was the most fascinating thing in the room.

Not because he wanted to date her, seduce her or anything like that. Simply because Agent Lisbon was interesting. She was a police officer, yes. Had obviously been fast-tracked through the CBI, given her youthful looks and the wary out of depth expression she wore. Not to mention the fact he had only seen her in passing before now, despite his volunteering to aid the CBI on major cases for the past two years. But all of that didn't matter, the petite brunette was still of interest to him, because there sure as hell wasn't anything else stimulating in this room.

Patrick Jane wasn't ready to look for love. Definitely not a mere three days after his family's untimely demise.

That was why he was here. In this small, dank room. On one wall, there was a one-way mirror. No doubt, the head honcho of the CBI, Gale Bertram was situated behind it, along with Special Agent Virgil Minelli. This case was of interest to them. Of course it was. It was Red John; everybody in law enforcement was interested in him. Not only that, even the people on the street lived in terror of the serial killer who left a smiley face on the wall to let you know he'd called.

As far as he was concerned, this was an open and shut case. Apart from the catching of the killer thing, of course. Red John was still at large and Jane expected that not to change for a significant period of time.

There was no need for him to be questioned. This was a complete waste of time. He'd already told Senior Agent Allen everything he knew. Everything he'd done. Patrick Jane had no personal connection to Red John, nor did he know the whereabouts of the man. Otherwise he would have handed the serial killer over to them months ago, years even. When he had started offering his services to the CBI, in fact. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. If he was personally linked to Red John, if he were a friend or family member, for example, he wouldn't have started working with law enforcement in the first place. Unless it was a double bluff. Unless…

He stopped and frowned slightly, barely realizing that he had become lost in his own train of thoughts. That was an unusual habit for him, but then again, Jane had never been in the situation of grieving widower before and it wasn't something he had ever particularly wanted to experience. Surely, in that case it was acceptable to act somewhat out of character? Besides, he hadn't heard Allen's latest question and the man was staring at him intently, as was his younger subordinate.

"So, you were at the studio until midnight?" Allen repeated eventually. "Didn't you finish shooting at ten? Why were you there so late?"

"What does it matter? It doesn't change a damn thing," Jane snapped in response. "If I hadn't given the interview, if I hadn't_ baited _Red John, this wouldn't have happened."

"Mr. Jane," Agent Lisbon said, speaking softly before reaching out to touch his hand. "Whatever you say, whatever you do, you need to know that it isn't your fault your wife and child were killed by Red John."

Immediately, Jane pulled back his hand and let out a hollow laugh. It had been just under seventy two hours since he had found that note pinned to the door. Twisted the knob and slowly let the door swing open. Spotted the face, smelt the iron tang in the air, saw the contorted bodies of the two people who meant more than anything else in the world to him. And yet, he had already lost count of the amount of people who had had the audacity to tell him it wasn't his fault. Agent Lisbon wasn't the first and nor would she be the last. If he had a dollar for every time somebody said it wasn't his fault, well, it still wouldn't bring Angela and Charlotte back. They were still dead. Still gone and nothing could change it.

Besides, she was wrong. They all were.

It _was_ his fault.

He'd baited Red John. Thought he was cleverer than a serial killer who had already murdered several times before. Who had continued to elude the authorities to this date and no doubt, would remain at large for more years to come.

"Agent Lisbon, how long have you been working on the Red John case?"

Jane watched as her back stiffened and she looked him directly in the eye.

"One week, since I transferred from the TPU. Why?"

"TPU? Trafficking Prevention? So you've had no prior exposure to Red John before then?"

"Of course I've heard of him, who hasn't?" she snapped in answer. "But as for case details, no."

"Then you don't have a clue what you're letting yourself in for."

xxx

"Mr. Jane," Lisbon spoke, smiling slightly. "It's been a while."

"It has. I see you're now in charge of your own unit," he stated and grinned when he saw her mouth agape. "Oh come on, it's obvious in your demeanor. You've grown in confidence. It suits you."

"Thanks, I think," she answered warily as they exited Minelli's office. "And what have you been up to?"

"Ah this and that. Sorting out my affairs. That kind of thing."

"That's just a load of crap to say you don't want to tell me, right?"

"Right."

Of course he didn't want to tell her. She must have had time to digest the Red John case by now. It had been two years, at least. That meant she would have some pretty strong views on his family's deaths and quite frankly, he wasn't ready to hear them.

Mainly because he knew she would try and tell him things he _still _wasn't ready to hear.

xxx

"What you said to me? When we first met?"

Lisbon placed down her pen and just stared at him, arching an eyebrow. She knew that given time, he would clarify the situation.

"That it wasn't my fault," he said, trying to jog her memory. "You didn't really mean that, did you?"

"I meant every word."

xxx

It was a hoax. It felt like every other case dealt with a Red John copycat. Like people believed they could use him as a cover-up to get away with murder scot-free. As if they could get away with it. Like the police or the serial killer wouldn't find out about it, sooner or later.

Jane knew full well that wasn't the case. Red John didn't believe imitation was the sincerest form of flattery. If, or when, Wagner was released from jail, Jane didn't want to be in his shoes. The serial killer would already know exactly what he had done and would want to seek his revenge. Despite the fact the good doctor had already lost his creditability, his hospital, support for his charity, there was always one more thing he could lose.

His life.

And that would be what Red John aimed for, whenever he next had exposure to Dr. Wagner. It was only a matter of time. Once the authorities had duly punished him, the serial killer would no doubt step up to the plate to make sure that Wagner learned his lesson for once and for all.

Jane had learned that the hard way and he hadn't even had the audacity to pretend to be the serial killer.

It had also changed his life around. He was living the life of a condemned man. The only reason he had agreed to come and work with the CBI again was to try and get even with Red John. Someone had to and there was no point in other people needlessly throwing their fulfilled lives away. It was the job for somebody with nothing left to live for. Him.

Lisbon had tried to tell him that Red John had probably found out about Jane working the case with her predecessor. That he would have done something to stop him anyway. How his ridiculous appearance on the chat show had probably just set the wheels into motion a little bit faster than it ordinarily would have happened.

But had Allen lost any of his family to the serial killer? Had Cho or Rigsby? What about Lisbon herself?It didn't take a psychic, fake or otherwise, to work out the answer to that one.

xxx

"Jane."

He mumbled incoherently under his breath and rolled over, trying desperately to sleep. If he had his eyes tightly closed and slowed his thoughts down as much as feasibly possible, then maybe it would stop eluding him. It might even succeed in convincing himself he was indeed asleep and therefore, he would feel rested and alert for the rest of the day.

"Jane!"But that wasn't going to happen with Lisbon kicking the couch and shouting at him. Damn woman.

"What?"

"This couch, though you seem convinced otherwise, isn't actually your bed," she snapped, irritated for one reason or another. "You are here to work."

"But there's nothing to-"

"We just got a callout. Meet me in the car park in five."

They drove in silence for a good thirty minutes. Jane remained trapped in his thoughts, principally of Red John. The serial killer hadn't struck for a while and he was beginning to get a little edgy. Something told him that he was going to get bored sooner or later and want to start playing with them again. It just seemed like a giant game of cat and mouse. He shouldn't be at large, not any more. The case had dragged on for far too long as it was. If Jane himself had gotten home earlier, had not loitered at the studio, signing autographs of all things, then maybe he would have intercepted the serial killer. So that may well have cost him his life as well, but then Lisbon and the rest of the Serious Crimes Unit at the time would have had some more leads to chase up. The serial killer, having been disturbed, would have made mistakes. Therefore, Red John would have been apprehended and he wouldn't have to live with the guilt. At the time, stroking his own ego hadn't required a second thought, but now, Jane regretted it with every single breath he took.

Quickly, he glanced over at Lisbon. She didn't seem particularly comfortable with the silence either. Sure, she was happy enough to be focusing on the road in front of her, but she knew something was up. The woman was a quick learner and had already learned to read him, if only a little. Sometimes, he thought it was a shame that he couldn't be as malleable as her. The adage was true: old habits die hard.

"I'm fine."

"What? I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to. You're worrying about me, again."

"You're a part of my team, Jane. Of course I'm going to worry about you."

"Don't bother."

She flinched at his tone and Jane immediately noticed. However, he didn't respond. He had to clear his mind in order to solve another case. It may not be Red John, may not have any effect on how he felt, but it was better than nothing. His way of trying to make the world a better place after getting so much wrong.

xxx

It was Lisbon who moved first, cutting off the harrowing laughter. She gripped the cell phone tightly in her right hand and stared at it for a few seconds. He knew what she was thinking. The audacity of the man; the bastard thought he could tease Jane, both of them, like that. Quickly, she shook her head and refocused her gaze on Jane.

"I've got to go," she muttered. "We can try and trace this call, see if we can find him."

"You do that."

They both knew it was a false hope. Red John had probably already destroyed the SIM card for the cell phone. This round was already over; another win for Red John, another loss for the CBI. For him.

"You'll be okay?"

"Yeah, you go. Do your job and all that."

Slowly, he wandered back through to the bathroom. The bodies were still there, mangled, bloodied. Two more lives lost to the cause. Two more people whose deaths could theoretically be blamed on him. Lisbon had warned him, had told him that using Jared Renfrew was like leading a lamb to the slaughter.

She had been right. He was wrong.

That was always the case when Red John was involved.

xxx

"You're still thinking about Jared Renfrew, aren't you?"

It was two weeks after they'd returned from Mexico. For a while, they had danced around the issue. Obviously, Lisbon had already grown fed up of doing that.

"Well, stop it," she continued, not even giving him a chance to respond. "It's not constructive, it's not healthy. I can't help you if you don't even _try_ to help yourself."

xxx

"Jane?"

"Huh?"

"What's wrong? Talk to me."

"He escaped again, Lisbon. We let him get-"

"Enough. I don't want to hear it, nor do I need to. How many times do I have to tell you-"

"It's not my fault? Yeah, yeah. But it is, Lisbon. How can you not see it?"

"Fine."

She sat down opposite him and stared directly in his eyes. Generally, she and Jane rubbed along together comfortably now. It wasn't perfect, but then again nothing was. However, they had been here before and Lisbon didn't want him to carry on with this mood for months on end.

"What?"

"If you want to play it like that, then…"

"You're going to say if it's my fault that my family was killed, it's your fault too."

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "I hate it when you do that."

Lisbon cursed quietly and Jane could tell that she hated being put in this position yet again. That she thought they had covered it already, down in that basement after finding Maya Plaskett. How she wished that he had paid attention, had realized that people, she, did care. That he couldn't continue shouldering the blame whenever something went wrong, especially when it pertained to the Red John case.

That he would actually change and in her opinion, grow up. For someone so cynical and jaded and working in such a violent career path, Lisbon still had a terribly strong sense of innocence about her.

"But?" he prompted.

"Yes, I was going to say that. If we'd apprehended him before your family was killed, then they would still be alive to this day and so would several other innocent people," she paused for breath, hating having to do this yet again. "But we can't live like this, pointing the finger. It's unproductive and if we do, we'll never catch him."

xxx

Some things seem like they would never change. Jane wouldn't stop pursuing Red John. As far as he was concerned, it was a case of kill or be killed. The team, Lisbon especially, was trying to get under his skin, to make him change his stance. Sometimes, he wondered if it was working. If they were really giving him something to live for, a reason to keep going without Angela and Charlotte.

Given longer, maybe…

In the mean time, he was still content to believe that he was entirely at fault. That Red John was the reason he lived for, that bringing him down was all that mattered. It was his calling, his redemption.

A lot would have to happen for him not to see it that way.

end


	6. Hope

**A/N: **So, Paint It Red, a new Mentalist fan forum, is running a ficathon! If you want to join in, there's details in my profile or you can always message me. And this is my first submission for it.

Anyway, enough promotion. Thank you to: Lizzybeth93, mentalagent13, boutondor and Famous4it for reviewing _Square One_.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Little Stories  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating: **T  
**Characters: **Jane/Lisbon, Van Pelt  
**Summary:** Once upon a time and after that it sucks.  
**Spoilers: **All of Season 3  
**Notes: **Written for the Paint It Red 2011 Ficathon.  
**Prompts: **50 Phrases: hope, mentalistprompt: defies expectation, Paint It Red ficathon: if fairytales were real. From Miss Peg.

**Little Stories**

Everybody deserves that fairytale happy ending.

That's what you believe anyway.

Call it your youthful optimism, your desire to see the people you care about happy, whatever. You can honestly say that everyone you know deserves that little slice of happiness. That one positive experience to keep the blood pumping in their veins, to ensure they remain hopeful for the rest of their lives.

That's despite your career, where you meet the scum of the earth. People who deserve to be locked away for good. Or worse, even. Then again, if they had experienced that happily ever after, then maybe, they wouldn't have headed down that path. That's something you choose to believe, anyway. If you didn't, who knows where you would land up? The depressiveness of your career path of choice would undoubtedly swallow you whole otherwise.

Not that everyone does, mind. Go off the rails when something bad happens, that is. Some people are stronger, have better resilience. They know how to get over life-changing problems without causing suffering to others.

You've seen it before and oh, how you wish you could change places with them. That way, you might be able to come to terms with everything that's happened to you of late.

But that doesn't matter. That's another story entirely.

This is about your only chance for escapism. The proof that, if you're lucky, you might just get a second (third? fourth?) chance yourself.

xxx

They've always been fond of one another. That's something that has been blindingly obvious from the start.

You and he joined the CBI around the same time. Both, coincidentally, were assigned to the Serious Crimes Unit. It was only natural that you, therefore, felt some kind of affinity towards Patrick Jane. A month isn't long, not really, in the scheme of things. Therefore, at the start, you felt like it was newcomers united.

Sometimes, you envy his ability to settle into the place. Years have been and gone and still, you occasionally feel out of place. He however, practically became part of the furniture. Always has been and you suspect, always will be. That's despite recent goings on. He'll find a way back; he always does.

But that's besides the point. Another story. Your story. You don't want to think about that, not after…

Anyway.

Lisbon's fondness for Mr. Jane has been obvious from the start. How many bosses would take the initiative to book a doctor's appointment for a sick subordinate? Not many. Most would just send them home, tell them to come back in a few days when they're feeling better. And it's not as if she's extended the same kind of treatment to the rest of the team. Is it? To Rigsby, to Cho, to yourself. Of course, she cares about you, but just not in the same way.

Even back then, when they were both so bruised and battered by the world, you thought that maybe, something could come of it.

That it was just a matter of time.

xxx

There was something about the way she smiled whenever Jane brought her coffee.

He did so, every so often. Then again, he often brought something for the entirety of the team. He was never one to actively leave somebody out; you suspect that's something to do with his slightly convoluted upbringing, but didn't say a word. At least, it was either that or his deceased wife. Whichever was responsible, it's not something you can talk about with him, even now. Both are no-go zones. Things which make him sad, uncomfortable. Make him switch on that haunted expression that very few people can get through.

In fact, the only one who seems to be able to break him out of those moods was sat opposite him, sipping out of a polystyrene cup. Things were easy, that day. Recently, there was a big break in an important case. You can remember it all too clearly. It was a serial killer, not Red John, another one. One of the many that people simply didn't care about because he didn't paint his walls with smiley faces. Therefore, Lisbon was in a good mood and that meant Jane was too. In fact, everyone was. So it wasn't quite closed yet, but you were finally making headway and that means optimism was commonplace right then.

And though Jane had very nearly screwed up the apprehension of Taylor Wyatt, the euphoria at closing a major case had lasted for days.

He'd brought her coffee, after. While you went out celebrating the closure with the others, she insisted upon staying behind. On getting the paperwork ready for Virgil Minelli. The price of power, she had claimed. It's something she says more and more often these days. Probably an excuse, simply because she'd rather not socialize without Jane there. On that occasion, Jane had, for the first time, accidentally forgotten about you and the guys. It didn't matter, you'd had pizza and beer later. He'd brought her something better than that weak, tasteless ditchwater they label as 'coffee' in the kitchenette that Lisbon would have otherwise resorted to drinking. You've heard him complain, repeatedly, about her caffeine intake, but that didn't stop him from buying her the stuff.

And after that first occasion, after getting a fix of that shy smile, he forgot about the rest of you more often. It was almost as if he were as addicted to that smile of hers as she was to the coffee itself.

Craig never did that for you. Surprise you with coffee, that is. No, he relied on the bigger statements, the more ostentatious ones. Once again, you chalk that down as something you should have known about. A sign that something was amiss.

You really should stop doing that.

xxx

Every time Red John reared his ugly head, it seemed like Jane went completely off the rails.

Lisbon, naturally, was the one to rein him back in again. Sometimes, she wasn't given the credit where it was due and it frustrated you. You know sure as hell you wouldn't be able to do her job. Not yet, anyway. It'll take you far, far longer to get where she is now than it did her.

But again, that's not the point.

The point is, Lisbon didn't _have_ to work so tirelessly to try and save Jane from himself. She could have simply signed him off to the departmental shrink, let them work their magic. Not that they really would have helped Jane; he didn't just know every trick in the book, he'd probably written the goddamn thing as well. It wasn't just a case of her _knowing_ that the shrink would be no good, you know it was her not wanting to give up on him. So many people in Patrick Jane's life had written him off as a lost cause and Lisbon was determined not to add her name to that long list. You know you wouldn't have had the stamina or perseverance to do such a thing. Jane always irritated you far too often whenever you were paired together for cases. Therefore, you cannot help but admire the way she reacted to everything he said like water off a duck's back. A moment's irritation and then she shifted it to one side.

Apart from Red John of course. The lingering shadow that had haunted all of you for far too long. That was something even she couldn't work to solve. The most she could do was stick a proverbial band-aid over it until it was mercilessly ripped off again. You wouldn't have even been able to manage as little as that.

You always hated Red John cases, didn't you? Almost as much as you hated Red John himself. If there was any one single person who deserved death row, it was him.

They made everyone tense and justifiably so. But it was the effect it had on your superior and the consultant that always stayed with you for the longest.

No doubt, Cho and Rigsby would have agreed too.

xxx

He saved her, several times. She saved _him_ more times than you could even count.

Not that it was a competition. It's just, sometimes, it felt like it was. Especially when you're caught in the middle of it all.

xxx

You always hated their arguments.

They're a partnership, a pair. They work together so well. Have an understanding better than even some married couples. That's saying something. Then again, with the way they acted, they might as well have _been_ an old married couple.

Say that to them and they'd have laughed in your face, however. Even now, after all they've been through, they'd still laugh.

She doesn't believe she understands the first thing about him. Has all but given up hope of ever doing so. As for him, well, he'd always acted as if people were expendable. As if there was one thing only that mattered: the death of Red John.

That was the cause of most of their spats. You can remember shying away whenever they were at blows with one another, mostly over their differing opinions on how to deal with the serial killer.

Secretly, you've always agreed with Lisbon's point of view. Whether or not that's because you didn't want to imagine Jane as a killer or because of the cop inside you, you don't know. Maybe it's a bit of both? Then again, being a cop didn't mean everything. Cops could become killers. Cops could even become moles for some of the worst serial killers imaginable. You learned that one the hard way.

The point is moot now. Red John is gone. Jane got his own way. As he always seems to.

But somehow, he seems to have learned from his mistakes. Realized that vengeance doesn't solve anything. It didn't bring his family back, didn't make him feel any better. If anything, it made him feel worse, simply because he actually learned that his actions had consequences on those close to him. He wasn't there to see Lisbon fall apart, not like you were. Jane didn't have to watch her pull herself back together, either. Nor did he witness the effect Craig O'Laughlin had - and still has - on you. In a way, he's lucky. Hidden away from the hurt and pain he's caused. But still aware of it, because you sure as hell have given him an earful on the few times you've seen him since he became a murderer. He went promptly to jail, almost the very moment he was charged. Was denied bail simply based on the fact he was a flight risk. Something to do with the fact of having nothing left in California for him. Of having family and close-knit friends touring the country with their carnival.

You know it's rubbish. That you're all closer to him now than his carnie friends could ever dream of being. Besides, there's Lisbon. Despite the fact that Jane went against her wishes, you know that he wouldn't go running away from her.

He just wouldn't be able to.

Though he would vehemently deny it, he's inextricably linked to her. He needs her now, she practically keeps him _sane_.

You always thought that Red John would be their one sticking point, the one thing that would stop them from ever seeking solace in one another's arms. Lisbon, with her moral high ground and rules and regulations. Jane, with his tricks and desperate desire for revenge. How would they ever find a way to meet in the middle?

They did. Of course they did.

Why? Because Lisbon seems to have moved on from it. Or she must know something about him, something about the situation, which means she's able to forgive him. To accept what he's done and get on with their lives together.

Funny how things can change, isn't it?

xxx

He's still in jail now, in solitary confinement for his own safety rather than that of others. After all, the majority of Jane's fellow inmates were put in there by him. Given half a chance, they'd seek revenge, the same way that Jane had sought it with Red John. You don't know when his case is going to go before a judge. None of you do. It's just a waiting game, one that feels like it's going to go on forever. And even when it does end up in court, you're dreading the outcome. The evidence is stacked sky high against him. Will it really matter just how much good he's done? What about the fact that he's sent so many guilty men behind bars? Men who would still be at large, if it wasn't for his input.

After all, he did kill a man. It was premeditated. And hell, even you knew his intentions.

Where does that put you? Lisbon? The whole of the CBI?

Somehow, you just can't bring yourself to think about it. Instead, you brush it under the carpet. You'll worry about it closer to the time. It's easier to deal with things that way. That's something this whole sorry situation has taught you, if nothing else.

Lisbon visits him as often as work allows.

You don't know anything about what's happening behind bars. Somehow, you can't imagine it being anything but painfully sweet.

After all, if he'd survived, you would never have imagined being able to do the same for Craig. Visiting him in jail, that is. Then again, he hadn't loved you like… well. Like Jane and Lisbon must love each other, even if it is only deep down and they _still_ aren't aware of it.

Yet.

xxx

"He's been cleared. Of all charges."

There had been countless witnesses. You had the murder weapon. It had been proven that Jane was of a sane state of mind at the time.

You don't even want to ask how he managed that one, but still, your heart lifts. You can't imagine just how she feels right now.

xxx

He catches her by surprise. In the bullpen, with a bunch of the deepest red roses you've ever seen.

You're jealous, of course you are. Only a year ago, you thought it would be your husband bringing you sweet gifts into the office, for no apparent reason. Instead, it's them. They're not even together, not officially. Not as far as you know, anyway.

Besides, it's not as if they would tell you outright. Though you're more than happy to classify them as friends, Lisbon still relies on the borders of professionalism a little too much occasionally. It's probably a habit she'll never shake, but you don't mind. It's just a part of her.

Like it's a part of Jane to pull ridiculous stunts and scare the crap out of people every so often.

You watch as, embarrassed, she ushers him away to her office. She had mentioned in passing that Jane would be returning to work. Officially, he isn't a criminal and therefore, it is absolutely fine for him to continue to consult for the CBI.

Or rather, spend every waking moment in Lisbon's pocket.

Same difference, really.

Even though it shows just how completely flawed the jurisdiction system in the state of California is, you know nobody is complaining. Not this time anyway.

Least of all Jane and Lisbon themselves.

xxx

Sometimes, you wonder what could have been. If Craig hadn't been a mole for Red John. If he had actually loved you. If he had survived…

What would have been different? What would have been the same?

You know you wouldn't be anywhere near as much of a mess as you are now. If only you were better at masking your feelings.

Then again, that's wishing you're something you're not. Sometimes, you need to learn that despite the fact she's still very much your role model, you're never going to be your boss. However much you wish it so.

Life isn't made up of fairytales. You can't just wish on a star, a penny, an eyelash and get everything you want.

xxx

It doesn't take long for you to work out that the inevitable has happened. That they've finally succumbed to their feelings. Admitted to themselves that what they have isn't going to go away any time soon.

That they aren't betraying the feelings of deceased loved ones, sacrificing everything they believe in or the like. That they are just excuses, that they are just stopping themselves from having what they deserve, simply for the sake of it.

Surprisingly enough, some people _do_ get their fairytale happy ending.

You don't begrudge them for it, how could you?

But given the odds, you would have thought it would have been you being whisked off into the sunset every single time.

Wouldn't you?

end


	7. Indifference

**A/N: **So, another Paint It Red Ficathon fic and another episode tag to 3x24. Yes, I know this is my third but I'll stop writing them soon and move onto something else.

Thank you to: Miss Peg, mentalagent13, Famous4it and Frogster for reviewing _Little Stories_.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Nothing Stops Another Day  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters: **Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** He killed a man. She didn't know yet.  
**Spoilers: **All of season 3.  
**Notes: **Episode tag to 3x24 Strawberries and Cream (Part Two). Written for the Paint It Red Ficathon.  
**Prompts: "**sometimes, we know when something is wrong, sometimes we choose to ignore it," from TotalCitron. 50 Phrases: Indifference. mentalistprompt: ER

**Nothing Stops Another Day**

He killed a man.

She didn't know yet.

x

The case went to the CBI, naturally. He was unceremoniously dumped in an interrogation suite by Kimball Cho and Wayne Rigsby, to await questioning.

It took all of Madeline Hightower's and Grace Van Pelt's powers of persuasion to get her into the ambulance. She had always been blind to her own well-being.

x

Cho and Rigsby interrogated him, with Bertram and LaRoche watching from the other side of the one way mirror. He freely admitted everything; there was nothing to lie about. Besides, the evidence was damning, they had all they needed _without_ a confession. What else was he meant to do?

Doctors of various guises hovered around her. As a cannula was inserted into her right hand and an intravenous drip her left, she wondered vaguely how long it would be until the pain would abate. They hadn't given her the anesthetic and yet, she was already feeling woozy.

x

He prowled around the holding cell, suddenly realizing just how small they were. It was of no matter, however. Soon, he would be transferred to a prison cell and that would be just as limiting.

She was unaware of what was happening to her. Instead, Van Pelt stood outside of the hospital, fretting and desperately calling her brothers. They would want to know that their sister was in surgery.

x

He fell asleep, welcoming it for the first time in years.

She woke and her mouth was dry.

x

He woke up every fifteen minutes or so. Just because he had finally killed Red John, it didn't mean his insomnia would disappear in a flash.

She didn't sleep at all; how could she with visiting medics every hour? Instead, she watched Van Pelt, who was clearly not telling her something.

x

LaRoche didn't say a word as he escorted him to jail. He didn't care though; he never had much to do with the man. However, he'd imagined this scene time and time again in the past. For some reason, it had always been her accompanying him on this long trek. And they'd have talked and she'd have forgiven him and… Well, of course that was just a fantasy. It would take more than a chat for _her_ to get over this one.

Van Pelt remained stonily silent, much to her irritation. Instead, it was Cho that broke the news to her. She didn't say a word until he was finished. Even then, she didn't say much. What was there to say or do? It wasn't as if she could go back in the past and stop him, like she had always vowed to do so. And really, she didn't know what to think. This was something that needed mulling over.

x

He was offered solitary confinement. He didn't take it.

She was offered more painkillers. She accepted them gratefully.

x

Less than twenty four hours passed before he received his first injury. The staff resisted the urge to say 'I told you so' as his bloody nose was seen to.

A physiotherapist dropped by to see her shortly before she was discharged. She expected her therapy regime as much as she anticipated LaRoche's call about counseling.

x

He wondered what she was thinking. Whether she even knew just yet. She'd been shot, had surgery no doubt. Might not even have been released from hospital yet. The only guarantee was that she wouldn't be back at work, though that wouldn't be through want of trying. A traitorous smile crept to his lips for the first time in days. Briefly, he wondered if she would ever come visit him. She did last time, after all.

She hoped he was holding up okay in jail. That his loose tongue hadn't gotten him into trouble yet. For some reason, she couldn't see that happening. The picture just didn't fit right. He probably thought she was fuming in bed, furious that she hadn't been able to stop him. Truth be told, deep down, she'd expected it. Now that she had time to think about it. Besides, she had more important things to worry about.

x

After a week, he was unwillingly put into solitary confinement 'for his own well-being'.

At the same time, she accepted the offer to go back to work early, if only to be on desk-duty.

x

When he heard he had a visitor, he smiled again. It was, after all, the day before his hearing. He needed something to cheer him up. When he saw it was _her_, his heart lifted again. The rest of the team had been avoiding him; he had expected her to be the last to break the stony silence.

While she waited at the plastic table, she felt terribly uncomfortable and unwelcome. She was a cop and responsible for putting a fair few convicts behind these very bars. Therefore, she felt vulnerable without her gun. She wanted to see him, but the sooner she was out of here, the better.

x

He tried to apologize immediately, but she cut him off. However, she didn't accuse him of lying and manipulation. Clearly, she had finally accepted that this was always how it was going to end. Instead, she simply asked him how he was going to plead. All he could do was tell her the truth: guilty. After all, he was guilty and he knew it. Everyone did. When it was obvious that she didn't hold it against him, he let out a huge sigh of relief. Somehow, this was all going far easier than he had ever anticipated.

She didn't need to hear that he was sorry because, deep down, she could tell he was. Not for shooting Red John in cold blood, oh no. He would never be sorry for that. But for disappointing her, not living up to her expectations? She could see he would hold a lifetime of guilt for that. Not that he needed to harbor any more regrets about his life. Besides, he wasn't entirely to blame. She should have known that he would tell her half-truths when they got close enough to Red John.

x

Before she left, he defied the rules and tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. The lack of human, _her_, touch had been killing him.

She clasped his hands with her own. If she hadn't felt so exhausted in the past nine days, she would have visited him a lot sooner.

x

The hearing went as he expected it. As she had promised the day before, she had attended, despite the fact she didn't have to. The only disappointment was being denied bail; the excuse that he was a 'flight risk' was simply pitiful.

For once, she was glad for desk duty. The others had been called out to a crime scene in the middle of nowhere. Besides, she had to remain true to her word. She wasn't surprised that he was denied bail; she saw it coming from a mile off.

x

He prowled around solitary confinement like a caged tiger.

She did much the same in her office.

x

The days when she visited always brightened his spirits. It was good to see her finally regaining form in that left arm, the one where she'd been shot. When she told him she was back on full duty, he was pleased for her. She didn't need to tell him just how much it irritated her, not being able to work at full capacity.

As she became healthier, it grew increasingly difficult to see him. The combination of physiotherapy, counseling and of course, work, had drained her free time considerably. She hated seeing him in such a state, but knew he needed her. That was why she endured the visits and made herself feel so uncomfortable.

x

Instead of his lawyer, it was her who told him when his case was due to go to court.

She only knew because J.J. LaRoche had been told by the A.G. and she overheard.

x

As the days disappeared before them, they began to avoid taboo subjects. It frustrated him, when she withdrew like this. But he could understand; compartmentalization was her way of dealing with stress.

Eventually, she attempted to solely tell him good news. This place was depressing enough as it was, without her adding to it. She knew full well that he could read her like an open book, but it didn't stop her trying.

x

During the trial, he made a concerted effort not to willfully manipulate the judge and jury. If he did so and was caught, it would have only made his predicament worse. Besides, seeing her there, on as many days as she could feasibly attend, changed things. There was something about those honest, green eyes that made him wish he could turn back time, be a better person. Be the kind of person she wished he could be, the kind _she_ needed.

There were times when she wished she hadn't let herself get so involved in his trial. Of course, there were certain dates when she had to attend. To give evidence and the like. But the rest? Well, that was just her morbid curiosity kicking in. Besides, she felt a moral obligation to support him throughout. She hated the way that they twisted certain things, to try and make out that he was a depraved soul. Really, he had just made an awful decision.

x

The night before the verdict, she visited him. He couldn't have been more grateful to see her. There was nothing like a friendly face coming to support you in your hour of need. 'I love you,' he wished he could say. 'Don't leave me, I need you,' too. The words never came. None ever did.

There was nothing she could say or do in this situation. She didn't even know why she felt compelled to see him. Maybe it was because this was her last chance to see him without his guilt having been proven in a court of law? Or maybe, it was because she needed him as much as he did her.

x

Yes, he did love her, he decided. But how long had they been ignoring the bigger picture for? For the past few months, they had been doing what? Living a lie? Pretending he was innocent when really, he was as guilty as they came? He knew her moral high ground wouldn't stretch to her dating a convict. And he couldn't expect her to lay down everything she had worked so hard for simply for the shell of a man. Somehow, tomorrow felt like a death sentence already.

Sometimes, she wished she could just switch off her feelings for him. But what difference would it make? It would just lead to her feeling lonely and miserable. Besides, how could she judge him for doing what she had done in the line of duty? Yes, he had killed a man, but it was _Red John_. But she couldn't sacrifice everything she had worked for, not even for him. No law enforcement agency would want an officer who was in love with a jailbird. Of that she was certain.

x

Moments before the verdict came, his heart leapt to his throat.

She simply put her hands together and prayed.

end


	8. Cautious

**A/N: **So back with another oneshot. I tried to write something fluffier, but I think it ended up being more melancholic than fluff. I'm sorry, but I did try. Really, I did. Maybe next time, I'll be more successful?

Thank you to: TotalCitron, Frogster, jamhead, ch19777, Famous4it and MerriWyllow for reviewing_ Nothing Stops Another Day_.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Waving, Not Drowning  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating: **T**  
****Characters: **Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** Sometimes, it's easier to skirt around the issue. Others, you have to face head on.  
**Notes: **Episode tag to 2x19 Blood Money  
**Prompts: **From the Paint It Red ficathon: "Learning to shoot," from Miss Peg and "I'm the hero of the story, I don't need to be saved." Hero, Regina Spektor - from Famous4it. From mentalistprompt: "In the still of the night...". For this collection: cautious

**Waving, Not Drowning**

She takes the stance. Her left foot slightly in front of the right, like a martial artist stands in preparation to fight. Then again, this isn't all that different. It's still an art of war, the main difference is that she's armed rather than using her bare hands. Besides, it's the strongest stance and more than makes up for her lack of height. That, and it has been drilled into her since day one at the academy. That was years ago now, almost a lifetime away. But still, they had a point and there's a reason Lisbon still practices using the same techniques she learned back then.

Unfortunately, in the field, you rarely have time to do things properly. Shifting one foot could be the difference between life and death. That's something she understands all too well. She's seen good cops gunned down in the past, simply because of split second decisions. In a way, she considers herself lucky. Lucky that she has never been the wrong side of that millisecond.

Still, she clears her mind. There's nothing worse than trying to shoot with her mind filled with jumbled thoughts, all vying for her attention. Lisbon often ends up down at the firing range when she's tense and needs to cool off a little. And to say that she hasn't been feeling stressed lately would be utterly ludicrous. One look in her eyes says it all. Things are getting better, but still, it's a slow journey to be taking. She's taken to wearing more makeup, trying to mask the hurt, to pretending even. It doesn't work and having Patrick Jane constantly trying to get under her skin makes it all the worse.

She knows he's trying to help, in the only way he knows how. And really, she appreciates it. Even if she doesn't always show it in quite the way he anticipates. Then again, how can she, when half of his crackpot plans are either entirely inappropriate for the situation or result in causing her far more work than necessary? But still, it's sweet that he cares. It also shows that he's learning to trust people again, realizing he doesn't have to spend the rest of his life shutting people out. Moving on from the tragedy of his past after far, far too long.

And if he, of all people, can do it, she can too.

Lisbon knows she's been out of sorts for a while, a little maudlin in comparison to usual. But to lose Bosco, so suddenly, so pointlessly, had been a shock to the system. Then, as if to add insult to injury, Minelli skipped out on them, on her. He had always seemed so strong, like he would always be there. And now, he's gone and has been replaced by a boss who hates her. It's getting to the stage where she wouldn't be surprised if she lost her job within a year.

Today, she's been lucky. Somehow, miraculously, despite her complete lack of control of her wayward consultant, Lisbon still has a job. She's also managed to get out of being scrutinized by the PSU _despite_ breaking every rule in the book. It's one of those situations where she has learned that she just needs to let it wash by her. Thinking about it too much overcomplicates things.

She takes a deep breath. Focuses. Shoots.

Bullets tear through paper with little regard. Lisbon barely notices; she's entirely focused on the task in hand.

It isn't long until she's fired off the whole round. Normally, she would stop and to see just how well she's doing, but right now, she can't. Not yet. Not when she's painfully aware of Patrick Jane standing beside her, staring. It's like he believes she'll disappear if he doesn't keep his eyes on her at all times. This is something Lisbon knows she should be used to by now. It's still unnerving and makes her a little uncomfortable. He's so fascinated by people, but sometimes, she cannot help but wish that he'd stop being so interested in her. In all honesty, they have known each other for long enough for him to know everything about her. She has long since lost count of the amount of times he's described her as translucent or worse, an open book.

"What do you want?" she asks bluntly.

Jane smirks. As always, it's all too knowing and she wishes she could find an excuse to punch him again. Then again, Lisbon also knows that she needs to control her temper, to manage herself. She can't lose face in front of her subordinates, least of all him. Last time she hit him square in the nose, it was justified. To do it now? Not so much. With a sigh, she clicks the safety back on, removes her ear defenders and looks him square in the eye. However, he doesn't answer. Instead, he shrugs, somewhat infuriatingly. Lisbon sometimes wonders why he can't just answer her questions without more prompting, why it always has to be such a game. Then again, in her less cynical moments, she sees this as half of his charm. And she's learned, how to read people, read _him_ better. That's always a useful skill.

"You know, words are useful."

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?" she replies, creasing her brow slightly.

For some reason, she can already tell this is a loaded question. He's looking at the gun, resting on the stand, but that isn't all he means. Of course, he's intrigued as to how to shoot effectively. He sees the team all do it on a regular basis, how it's almost a second nature to them. Then, the glance suggests something else. Something deeper. She cocks her head to one side, quizzically and eventually identifies the haunted look in his eyes. Just because he's making progress when it comes to connecting with people again, it doesn't mean his family is far from his mind. And that's what he wants to know. How to move on. As if she, of all people, has the answers. Then again, that's hardly surprising. It's no secret that death has been a feature of her life for a far too long. Her childish innocence had been crushed by it in the blink of an eye, causing her to grow up far too soon. Jane doesn't understand that; he's the epitome of a child in an adult's body, even now. But how can she have the secrets behind mourning someone and moving on? She thought it goddamn obvious that she was struggling to keep afloat, barely able to come to terms with latest developments.

So, instead, she simply ignores the question he means and answers the one he doesn't. Even though she knows she could live to regret answering this one eventually, too. Maybe another time, they can address dealing with loss. That's a discussion she isn't in a fit state for, least of all right here and now.

"Defenders."

Jane's eyes widen a little and she smiles slightly when he finally remembers that he removed them to hear her speak. She isn't going to start teaching him how to shoot without following protocol. He may not be one for rules, but with something like this, even he needs to be aware of the obvious hazards. As far as she knows, his only experience with a gun is firing a poorly held rifle. A shot that had, mercifully, saved her own life. She still feels indebted to him; it's part of the reason why she's spent increasingly more time trying desperately to protect him from harm. It's a thankless task, but somebody has to do it.

Amazingly enough, he listens to her instructions willingly and actually follows them, something which feels like a first to her. Jane is tentative as he fires, a little nervous to apply pressure to the trigger. Then again, when she first had a gun placed in her hand, so was she. It's taken many years of hard work for her to get to where she is now. She silently notes that he does a fair job at handling the weapon. She's seen more experienced marksmen do a worse job, at least. However, that doesn't disguise the shake of his hand as he places it back down again, indicating he's had enough.

And funnily enough, though it was his suggestion of a method for _her_ to let off steam, so has she. Even though she's only fired just the one round herself. Somehow, the desire to do damage to innocent targets has ebbed somewhat.

She's not surprised when he offers to take her out for a late-night coffee. After all, considering the week they've had, he owes her. And ever since Bosco, Lisbon has noticed that he's been more protective of her, too. Shadowing her at times when it's unnecessary, checking she's okay more frequently than entirely appropriate. Sometimes, it's suffocating and she aches for the space, for the boundaries she meticulously works for. Others, it's a relief. To know that somebody nearby actually cares about her wellbeing.

However, Lisbon cannot help but continue to feel startled. Jane's assertion that he'll always save her is disconcerting. She's no damsel in distress and that's something she's proud of. Lisbon has always been the one in control of her own destiny and has rarely taken kindly to outside influence. There's a reason she lives her life the way she does, and it isn't something she's willing to share with anyone any time soon. Then again, she knows she should have had the insight to know Jane would start meddling sooner or later. It's practically a part of his DNA.

However, if he can barely save himself, what hope has he got of saving _her_? And what specific threat does he have in mind?

The only one she can think of is Jane himself. And she knows she's not going to let go of him that easily. Like the Red John case, she's too involved with him now. She sees it as part of her duty to ensure he stays on the straight and narrow. Like he wants to 'save' her, she needs to 'fix' him. To piece together the broken pieces and give him a life worth living once more. If she succeeds, she knows he won't be perfect, the cracks will always show, but at least he won't have thrown his life away for a second time. Or so she hopes, anyway. It depends on just how well she can get _him_ to let her in, rather than vice versa.

It doesn't take her long to drive to Jane's café of choice. Despite it being late, it's still open. Mostly because it's near the CBI headquarters and there is a demand for coffee from them, whatever the hour. Lisbon knows from first-hand experience that it doesn't serve the best tea in the world, but it doesn't stop Jane from ordering one. He hates coffee, despite being more than willing to give her a fix of caffeine every so often. Even if he believes the tea is dire, he probably reckons it's better than the next best alternative.

"You do realize that the whole lesson was hypothetical, right?"

They're holed up at their usual table, if they can call it that. The place is dead, excepting themselves and Agent Gavin from Organized Crime, who is clearly doing the coffee run. Lisbon nods slightly in her direction, knowing full well the woman will gossip. People can never resist. The rumors about herself and Jane have been flying around the CBI for years now and she's just about given up trying to set the record straight. There's no point; just as soon as she has everyone convinced that they are not together, something happens which sends them back to square one. It's better to just let people think they know the truth and focus on doing a good job.

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really. With your… history, you'd never legally be allowed to own a firearm."

He nods, clearly understanding and doesn't say another word. Instead, he simply sips his tea and she cannot help but wonder what's going through that mind of his. Possibly something about not needing to actually _own_ a gun to shoot Red John. He could steal somebody else's, hers perhaps. Maybe even be gifted it by some generous soul who is painfully aware of his vendetta. His story is, after all, widely available on the internet. A half hour search, if that, can tell somebody everything they need about Patrick Jane. In a way, she wishes she could cast these doubts aside, just trust him entirely for a change. But then, if she did, where would she land up? Lisbon is already aware that she's at the top of a slippery slope, fighting to stay as far away from the bottom as possible. Just giving in would be dangerous, however tempting it might be.

The air soon gets stifling and she knows Jane is aware of it too. Quickly, he changes the subject and she falls into place behind it. Bickering with him comes easily, it's almost a second nature to her now. Sometimes, she wonders if half the time, he's really playing devil's advocate, simply to try and prompt a response from her. Still, it provides a useful distraction and soon, her coffee grows cold. Again, she knows that is probably a good thing; she has to be up early in the morning and caffeine could potentially keep her up all not.

They exit quickly and the nighttime air cuts through her jacket. It doesn't bother her in the slightest; she's used to much colder temperatures from her childhood home back East. What does bother her, however, is the silence. Under a blanket of darkness, anything can happen. People can use night to cover all manner of crimes. Her job isn't _just_ a job, it's a lifestyle choice and something she cannot switch off. Even now, after a peaceful night socializing with a co-worker, she cannot help but wonder what laws are being broken at that very moment. What she'll be woken up to deal with come morning. Then again, she had always been told as a child that she had an overactive imagination, that she didn't seem to know how to switch off. Sometimes, it's a blessing, others it's a curse.

As she slips into her car, she offers Jane a ride home, which he politely declines. The walk will do him good, apparently. Instead, she shrugs noncommittally and inserts her key into the ignition. But she's not done yet. If she doesn't ask, Lisbon knows this will plague her mind for all too long. In a way, she wishes that the little boy with the goat had found them five minutes later, that they had had a chance to finish this conversation in Mexico. Instead, like so many things, it has been brushed under the carpet. Forgotten. Like the lingering thoughts about grief settling at the back of her mind.

"Jane?"

"Yes?"

"What you said, about saving…"

"I meant it," he interrupted, keen to make his point.

"I don't need saving. I'm _fine_."

Jane raises a skeptical eyebrow and she knows why. 'I'm fine' has been her mantra for months now and half the time, she hadn't even been convincing herself. Then again, she knows there's light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, that she doesn't feel quite so sad anymore. But still, it rankles. She's not the one who needs saving, it's him.

"Jane…"

She almost knows what he's going to say now, that she needs to trust him more, that she can't keep isolating herself. That it isn't healthy, or fair on herself. It's hypocritical, considering his lifestyle choices and they both know it. That is, she suspects, half the reason he chooses to remain silent instead of answering her question.

"Jane…" she starts, but she knows she doesn't want to start an argument, not at this time of night. "Just so long as you let me help you too, 'kay?"

He smiles. It's one that doesn't quite meet his eyes and Lisbon has to pretend it doesn't hurt. There isn't much she wouldn't give to see him genuinely happy again, but sometimes that seems like an impossibility.

"Some things go unsaid," he answers, before she speeds off into the night, without a second glance.

As she told him, she knows where this is going to go. One day, it's all going to end in disaster, one way or another. That is, if he doesn't let go of his thankless task of trying to seek revenge. Theoretically, she knows she can stop it. She just needs a little luck, a lot of patience and time. Even then, it can still all go wrong. If Jane pushes the wrong buttons, she will be out of the CBI in a flash. He's her responsibility. There's nobody there to pick up the pieces when _she_ screws up, even if Jane likes to think he could. If she makes the wrong decision, she is entirely taken into account. She likes to act as the security blanket for the rest of her team, partially because it's her job, but mostly because they're good people and deserve it.

Just like Jane deserves a second chance at happiness, even if he doesn't see it yet.

So, until it's all taken away from her, she's going to continue fighting, continue trying to do good. Catching the bad guys, trying to fix Jane.

Usually, that's enough.

end


	9. Horror

**A/N: **It seems I have fallen into an old habit. Fun times. This was surprisingly hard to write and I'm glad it's over. Not entirely sure of the result, but we'll see. Maybe it'll grow on me?

Thank you to: Wldwmn, Brown Eyes Parker, MerriWyllow, Miss Peg, Frogster and Famous4it for reviewing _Waving, Not Drowning_.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **The Next Verse  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating: **T  
**Characters: **Jane/Lisbon, Lisbon/unspecified  
**Summary:** I'll show you yours if you'll show me mine.  
**Notes: **Set post 3x24 Strawberries and Cream. Written for the Paint It Red ficathon. The prompt below, was supplied by ch19777.

**The Next Verse**

_A good nightmare comes so rarely,  
__Those pretty dreams have already taken too much of your time.  
__A good nightmare comes so rarely,  
__I'll show you yours if you'll show me mine.  
_- Invitation to the Ball, from Dance of the Vampires

I hear of your accident, the shooting, and it sickens me.

I have to excuse myself quickly. LaRoche gives me a quizzical look, but I cannot stay in the room. I need to find a bathroom, to compose myself.

It isn't meant to be like this.

I never thought that he would put you in direct danger; I was convinced that he cared about you too much.

Clearly, I was wrong.

Then again, when tempted by the proverbial carrot, Patrick Jane is never the most predictable of people. Of course, if he thinks he can flush out the mysterious Red John, he has to go running. He's desperate for revenge, that one. To hell with the people he works with, he supposedly cares for.

When Red John's on the scene, he has only one thing on his mind.

But even I'm surprised by this turn of events. Had it been Van Pelt, Rigsby or Cho, then less so. But you? Everyone always thought you and he held some sort of special connection. You and he have fueled the rumor mills for years.

When it came down to it, I always thought he'd choose you over him, too.

If I were in his shoes, I would have.

But then again, I understand his mindset. The drive, the urge, the desperation.

The obsession.

_That's _something I understand all too well.

Somebody offers me a cup of water. I accept it gratefully.

As soon as I've swallowed the last drop, I crumple the polystyrene. That feels good. It's surprising how a simple act of destruction can steady the nerves. Briefly, I check my face in the mirror. A little pallid, maybe and there's bags underneath the eyes. It doesn't matter though; we're all stretched to the limit here. I can always blame exhaustion or something.

When I finally return to LaRoche's office, the mood has shifted. There's more than just sheer panic in the air. Yes, an agent is down, but I discover you're being transferred to hospital. Apparently, the injury isn't life threatening, but it's going to make you feel uncomfortable for a while. That's a blessed relief, though I'd have preferred it if you felt no pain at all.

Especially as it is the fault of that bastard, Jane.

If he hadn't sent you to protect Hightower, you'd have been fine. If he'd stuck to form and had you accompany him to the mall, you wouldn't have been shot. If he hadn't lied to Van Pelt about Bertram being Red John's mole, then she wouldn't have told O'Laughlin…

However, the mood in the office hasn't changed for the better. People seem shell-shocked, like they don't know how to react.

I hear the whispered words. Red John's dead, they say. He's been killed. Murdered in cold blood.

By Patrick Jane.

Other members of staff are questioning how this could have happened. Hadn't Rigsby and Cho left with him, just hours ago? Weren't the Serious Crimes Unit doing some kind of sting? To close one case or other?

It seems nobody else even knew it was Red John they were investigating.

I'd been looking forward to this moment for months, for years even.

Of hearing that Patrick Jane has been arrested for murder. That he is being transferred to CBI imminently for questioning. That he'll be sent to jail, to rot. Just like he deserves.

I also know that my, our, colleagues were expecting to feel jubilant in this moment too. Closing the Red John case should be a celebration for the entirety of the CBI. Instead, it's been marred because Jane has been arrested and of course, your injury.

It's common belief that people thought you, Teresa, would stop him. That you would be there when he finally corners Red John and he would choose you.

Only I know otherwise.

As I've said, I, like so many others, thought you'd be safe from whatever crazy stunt Jane pulled in order to get Red John. That's not what I mean.

Nobody here knows the full plan. They think Red John's influence has long since been extinguished from the CBI. That LaRoche successfully flushed out the double-crossing Madeline Hightower.

But they're wrong.

Even with Craig O'Laughlin now dead too, it doesn't change a thing.

For I'm still here.

And so much more is going to happen.

I should be celebrating. Jane's arrest is the result of many of years of hard work. I should be proud that I've finally managed to pull it off.

But I can't be.

Not until I _know _you're on the road to recovery.

xxx

The bile hits the back of your throat before you have a chance to register anything else.

I don't have to be there to see it, I can imagine. A vivid imagination can be both a blessing and a curse.

I know, of course I know.

I always do.

It helps that I've known you for so long now. I understand your mechanisms, the way you react. Sometimes, you can be ever so predictable. It's endearing, in a way. Of course, you can still catch me off guard from time to time too. I like it when you do; it adds a spark, of sorts, to our relationship. Keeps things exciting and so on.

But you never expected this.

I did, however.

You see, this has been a part of my orchestration all along.

Patrick Jane, he was an interesting diversion. A game, if you will. He was never the sole target of my plans, my desires. I get bored easily, need stimulation. If I have an endgame, a plan, I need something to distract myself from time to time. To keep things exciting and to give me a break from the task in hand. Either that, or multiple complicated plans interweaving with one another. That can be fun, as well.

Frankly, my dear, it's a miracle my fascination with you has lasted so long. It never usually does; there's just a special… something about you.

But even he cannot distract me from you forever. Or vice versa, of course.

You see, I know how you feel about him. I have done so for years.

It's obvious. The way you looked at him, the way you let him touch you where so many other men have tried and failed. It was crystal clear in your body language and the verbal sparring matches you shared.

In fact, the only person it wasn't obvious to was _yourself_.

Did you really think he'd be safe behind bars? Did you really think that I was gone? Dead and buried? That I would willingly walk to my death and let Mr. Jane kill me with something as mundane as a handgun?

If you did, then you're more naïve than I thought.

That's of no import though.

I know that by the time you're back at headquarters, you'll have composed yourself once more. That you'll have closed down the delicious range of emotions going through that pretty brain of yours in order to focus on the job.

After all, you could never let anybody else know just how much you loved him. And if you couldn't admit it to yourself, how could you be expected to tell anybody else?

You now have to focus on catching me, of course.

For now you know. I'm still alive. Patrick Jane failed in his fruitless quest for revenge and he died in humiliation. Your team had sent him to jail as a criminal, believing he had done your job for you. You'd let him revel in the glory of having finally succeeded in butchering me. Well, it was hardly butchering. More like a couple of dodgy shots to the chest.

The only reason my acolyte died was because Mr. Jane shot him in such a close proximity.

I stole that glory away from him and painted my calling card on the wall in his blood. You're probably staring at it right now, wondering whether or not it's a sick joke. If one of the other inmates wanted to desecrate his body in an ironic way.

But eventually, you'll realize. Everything is identical to my old way of operating. There's details there that haven't been repeated to the general public.

And there's his blood painted on his toenails. A special thought, just for you.

Even in jail, he wasn't safe from my grasp. And once he was there, he grew boring. In a way, you could almost blame yourself for his death. If you'd let him off the hook just this one time, then maybe you'd still be together. Solving cases, catching the 'bad guys'.

And I'd still be watching your every move. Listening into conversations your - our - boss has. Smirking as I realize just how far away you are from capturing me.

You're probably suspecting Director Bertram himself. He's sharp, suave. Has access to Jane.

But that would be too obvious, wouldn't it?

I'm closer than you think, Teresa. I've been watching you even closer, since Jane's arrest and your recovery.

We've worked together for years. You may not have particularly noticed me, but we've passed each other in the corridor. Exchanged pleasantries in the parking lot. Gotten coffee at the same time.

And I've handed you oh so many case files.

We're in this together, it's the long game.

And remember: I'll show you yours if you show me mine.

The ball's in your court, agent.

end


	10. Amused

******A/N: **It's been a long while since I've posted a oneshot. I wrote this a while ago, but it was originally going to be my Mentalist Mini Bang fic, so I've had to sit on it. However, I've since had a better idea for that and therefore, I'm free to post this.

Thank you to: Miss Peg, Wldwmn, MerriWyllow, Frogster and Divinia Serit for reviewing _The Next Verse_.

And you know I've promised to write/post some fluff in forever? Well, I hope this fits the bill...

x tromana

* * *

******Title: **Terms of Endearment  
**Author: **tromana**  
********Rating: **T**  
****Characters:** Jane/Lisbon******  
********Summary:** "Is it because I called you 'baby'?"******  
****Notes: **Set during 2x09 A Price Above Rubies. Beta'd by the lovely Miss Peg. For watchyouwalk/autumnftw.

**Terms of Endearment**

"Don't you dare think I've let you off the hook."

"What, for what?"

Lisbon raised an eyebrow and shook her head slightly. Sometimes, Jane really was clueless, or at least, pretended to be. She could never be quite sure. Then again, that was half of his charm. When he wasn't subverting her authority, playing mind games and generally being a nuisance that was. Automatically, she stuffed her hands into her pockets. It was a bad habit and she knew it, but at that specific moment, just didn't care. They were highly unlikely to come across any criminals in this part of town, it wasn't as if she needed to be on her guard. Sooner or later, she would try and deal with it, but right now she had far too much on her plate.

"Oh come on, like you don't know."

"No, really," Jane protested, though the glint in his eyes suggested he knew exactly what she was talking about. "Is it because I called you 'baby'?"

"What? No!"

"It is, isn't it?" he continued, his tone almost gleeful. "I'm sorry, but we really had to sell the act, didn't we."

"An act I wasn't even aware that I was going to have to do!" she answered back irritably.

"Would you have preferred Babe? Sweetheart? Gorgeous?"

"No way," she stated, slightly flabbergasted that he actually believed that this was her major problem with his recent behavior. Besides, this discussion was wholly inappropriate for people who were strictly co-workers as it was.

"Woman?"

"You already call me that anyway."

With a slight smile, Jane cocked his head and nodded. Fishing out her keys, Lisbon briefly ignored him. Instead, she waited for the sly comment about her actually noticing that he called her that or the request to drive. As if she would let him do such a thing now. She was already in a foul mood and she didn't want him to add to it with his reckless driving. Besides, she still needed to get him to actually acknowledge that, yet again, he had been at fault. Instead, all he could do was focus on the most trivial thing he had done wrong in the past half an hour or so.

"And you don't stop me," Jane stated lightly.

"You wouldn't listen," she muttered, "you never do."

"I resent that!"

"Of course you would."

"Name just one time when I have ignored a direct instruction. And I mean a direct one, not one of those little ones where it doesn't really matter if I follow it or not."

"Do I really need to list them all?"

"What? Can you really not think of an actual example? Are you really just relying on pithy phrases to back up your argument?"

"Jane! We both _know_ you're a pain in the ass, so what's the point?"

"Pain in the ass isn't a particularly nice thing to call somebody," he replied, pouting slightly.

Lisbon smirked in response. It was obvious that he was only pretending to be hurt by her doubting his authority over him and calling him such a derogatory term. It wasn't as if it was the first time she had done so, anyway. And besides, he was the one who started bringing up stupid nicknames, so in reality he had it coming.

"Why not call me Dear? That's much nicer," Jane suggested.

"Thorn in my side works better."

"Love?"

"Pest," she immediately retaliated.

"Honey?"

"What? Really?"

"Why not?"

"Uh, it makes you sound like a girl for a start."

"Meh, so does Jane."

"But that's your _name_. It's different."

"Is it?"

"Of _course_ it is. Put on your seatbelt."

"Yes, boss."

With a sigh, which didn't go unnoticed by Jane, Lisbon placed the keys in the ignition. Thankfully, the Windward Clarity Center wasn't all that far from the CBI headquarters and therefore, she wouldn't need to be trapped with him in the van for too long. After all, there was only so much time one person could spend trapped in a confined space with Patrick Jane. When he really put his mind to it, like he seemed to be doing so at that specific moment, it was all she could do to stop herself from doing him serious injury.

"You _know_ that that wasn't the problem."

"What wasn't the problem?"

"You and your… terms of endearment," she eventually stated. "That was just a part of your cover. I get it."

"So the problem is that you would have liked a little more forewarning about masquerading as my lover?"

"It would have been nice," Lisbon admitted, while ensuring that she remained firmly focused on the road. "But we could have just asked Dr. Gorshani for the information, you know."

"Really? He would have just whined about patient confidentiality and refused to give it to us until you got a warrant. Something which takes far too much time and energy."

"A warrant which I already have."

"You do?"

"Yes!"

"When did you get that?"

"You were on the couch. Like usual. I should get rid of it."

"You can't get rid of my couch!" he responded, horrified at the concept. "I do my best thinking on it!"

"Oh really, is that what it's called? Because I thought the CBI was just paying you to sleep."

Jane let out a hollow laugh and Lisbon flinched slightly. It was a little cruel; she knew of his problems with insomnia better than most. In fact, she had been one of the few people who had tried and failed to help him on that front. These days, she knew that it was a lost cause and usually left him to it, unless he looked desperately in need of a rest. And all he was doing was trying to repay the compliment. She appreciated the efforts he was putting in, to try and make her smile, but really there was a time and a place. Just because she was still grieving for Bosco, it didn't mean that it had to affect her abilities in the workplace. Nor should it have any repercussions on her relationship with her co-workers. Least of all Jane. After all, he had more than enough of his own problems, never mind him trying to tackle hers as well.

"You've got to admit though, my way was a lot more fun."

"What? Being humiliated about a problem I _don't_ have while you illegally break into an office and read confidential papers?" she answered with a sarcastic tone. "Yes, that sounds like a lot of fun to me."

"I knew you'd see it my way in the end," he responded with a grin.

She knew that he had explicitly ignored her tone of voice to get a rise out of her, so instead, Lisbon rolled her eyes. Jane seemed satisfied that he had gotten a response out of her, even if it was only a slight physical reaction. One that she seemed to use significantly more ever since he had come into her life. It was almost like some kind of compulsion of his, to wind people up, and she was beginning to understand that now.

And even if she would never admit it, he was making her feel better. If only a little.

"What about Sexy, then? Can I call you that?"

"Jane!"

end


	11. Thoughtful

**A/N: **Feels like I've been trying to write this fic for a while! Oh well.

Thank you to: Wldwmn, Aeidhryn, Brown Eyes Parker, Ebony10, lil smiles, Frogster, watchyouwalk and Anna for reviewing _Terms of Endearment_. Especially so to those who reviewed anonymously. And I owe replies to those of you whom I haven't replied to yet!

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Rain  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating: **T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary: **Rain, nursery rhymes and quiet banter.  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine  
**Notes: **Written for the Paint It Red November Monthly Challenge. 50 Phrases: Thoughtful

**Rain**

"It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is…"

"Jane?"

"Yes, Lisbon?"

"Shut up."

The heavens had opened, quite literally. And Lisbon really didn't need the reminders from Jane about it.

People often claimed that California didn't have seasons, that it was always warm and sunny. Obviously, those people were delusional, or at the very least, naïve. They believed all the propaganda about the State, enticing them to come and stay for vacation. In short, the kind of person who believed that being a cop was exciting and glamorous as well. It didn't help that television shows always hyped up crime scenes; set them in beautiful, panoramic views with blazing sunshine or rooms artfully decorated, with the finest quality of soft furnishings. However, Lisbon knew that was rarely the case. Usually, crime scenes were relatively dull, with the most exciting thing being the body, naturally. But who wanted to see reality when they could just as happily be sold a fairytale? And instead of the glorification, she was stuck in reality, complete with rain.

Murderers never killed to a timetable. They didn't care if the body was discovered in the middle of a downpour. In fact, it was all the better if it was. Rain was famed for cleansing the soul as well as the land, and that couldn't have been any more true than at a crime scene. Water washed away precious evidence and that was something they were all more than aware of. As a consequence, everybody was already more than a little irritable and wanted to get away from there as soon as feasibly possible.

As they approached the crime scene, walking down a slope which was turning increasingly slippery, Lisbon noticed that the body was already under protective sheeting. It was little more than a gazebo and though it just about protected the deceased man from the weather, there wasn't any space for the living as well. Therefore, they were stuck, getting soaked to the core, for as long as this took. And besides, they didn't know just how long the poor man had been exposed for. Any clues could have long gone before the DA had even given Lisbon that three am wake up call this morning.

She nodded briefly at Doctor Steiner, who immediately looked disappointed at the presence of Jane. Lisbon knew that the coroner didn't particularly get along with Jane and he was probably irritated that yet again, the CBI were leading the investigation. Especially as it was so soon after their previous encounter. Steiner hadn't forgiven Jane for winding him up over the Barge murder. Then again, he had held a grudge against Jane ever since their first meeting. Therefore, his reaction was true to form: cold and irritable, just like the weather. It wouldn't have surprised her if, one day, Steiner started bombarding the CBI and herself with letters, in order to get him removed from cases.

Then again, the weather even seemed to have Jane subdued. It didn't particularly help that the only umbrella they had managed to bring between the five of them had somehow been procured by Van Pelt. The youngest member of her team was getting surprisingly crafty; Lisbon suspected she was picking up tricks from someone who needn't even be named. However, she wasn't about to pick a fight; Van Pelt did have a netbook with her and the technology wasn't exactly cheap.

"Let's make this quick," she muttered, shivering slightly as she did so. "What do we got?"

"Rain, rain, go away, come again another day," Jane muttered.

"What do nursery rhymes have to do with anything?" Lisbon snapped. What she wanted to know about was her dead man, not nonsensical musings.

"Oh I'm just wondering why people would want rain to come again, in the future," he answered nonchalantly. "Why not get it over and done with?"

"And what does that have to do with our dead body?"

"Absolutely nothing."

She rolled her eyes in response and Steiner took the opportunity to fill in the gaps, with assistance from Van Pelt. Lisbon was relieved that they made the process as speedy as possible. Especially so as, after his little outburst, Jane remained standing stock still beside her, just staring at the body. It was unusual for him, but at that moment in time, she didn't care. The sooner they could get back to a motel and she could find somewhere warm and dry, the better. Then, she would take the time to worry about him.

Not that she ever really stopped worrying about him in the first place. It was just a constant, nagging thought at the back of her mind. When Jane was having one of his more energetic moments, she simply got more irritated by him than concerned for him. When he slipped into these quiet moods, that was when she really worried. Because she didn't know what he was thinking, or where he would land up, given half the chance. Then again, it could have been worse. At least he was talking occasionally, even if his mind was almost entirely elsewhere.

The journey to the motel was quiet, excepting Rigsby and Van Pelt's bickering. At least the two were talking; their enforced break up by Hightower had hit them hard and sometimes, they struggled to string two sentences together when talking to one another. It was yet another concern for Lisbon. If they couldn't get their act together and work together productively, then Hightower would be breathing down her neck again. Inevitably, the newest boss would be blaming her for the sorry situation they had found themselves in. After all, splitting them up was meant to make things better for the unit, not worse.

As she stomped up to the reception area, dragging a case behind her, she glanced over at Jane. In his hands, a small spider was crawling. Lisbon dreaded to imagine where he got the creature from, but the look in his eyes suggested he found the thing fascinating. Unlike him, Lisbon couldn't share his enthusiasm. Californian arachnids could kill, if you weren't careful.

"Incy, wincy spider climbed up the water spout…"

"Down came the rain and washed the spider out," Lisbon automatically completed it for him. "Go get rid of that spider. It could…"

"It won't, it's just a house spider," Jane interrupted.

"Whatever, get rid of it. It could still _bite_ you."

"I'd prefer it if you bit me."

"I _will_ if you don't get rid of that thing."

"Really?" he answered, his cheeks coloring a little. "Don't you like spiders, Lisbon?"

"Not particularly. Who does?"

He didn't answer and instead, he disappeared. Something was off about his interaction, it was almost as though it felt forced. Sometimes, she wished she could read his mind and just understand what was going on with him. The funniest of things could set him off and the nursery rhymes in particular were unsettling her. Automatically, she thought of his daughter, the one he never talked about. She knew that her death affected him each and every day, and his wife's too. It was only natural, especially considering his fixation on revenge. She could imagine all too easily Jane sitting on a couch, bouncing a little girl with curls matching his own on his lap. Together, they would have laughed and joked and recited the rhymes. The girl would have giggled enthusiastically as Jane spoke-sung the words and clapped her hands at the end of each one, begging her daddy for more, more, more.

And he'd lost it all, in an instant.

Just like she'd lost her parents in two separate instances.

Lisbon shook her head and desperately fought to compartmentalize the feelings once more. They had a case - and now, a conference room to work in - and therefore, she didn't have time to go down those routes again. Maybe, when she next took a vacation, she could think about what she had lost and try and contact her brothers or something. For now, she had a criminal to apprehend and that was far more important than wallowing in self-pity or projecting onto somebody else's.

She sat down at the desk, briefly considering where they should start. The body had been a John Doe and Steiner, though excellent at identifying causes of death swiftly, had no knowledge of missing men in the area. The best place to start an investigation was always by questioning the family and no ID meant no family. At least it was quiet in here and the ideal place to focus, or at least, it would be once the others had gotten dried and changed.

"You're still wet."

"No, really?" Lisbon replied, turning around to see him walk in.

"You should dry off before you even think about starting to work. You made sure that everyone else did," Jane answered back, with a slight smile. "I'm not sure that 'do as I say, not as I do' is an ideal method of leadership."

"Since when do you, of all people, think about things logically?"

"I brought you a hot chocolate," Jane said, ignoring her question and instead, handed her a polystyrene cup and a towel. "I thought it more appropriate for the weather."

"Right," she answered more skeptically but accepted it all the same. "You seem quiet."

Jane shrugged. Everyone had occasions when they were quiet. Sometimes, there simply wasn't anything to say. Others, there was too much and it just felt better to keep it all to yourself. As far as Lisbon was concerned, this was neither of those occasions.

"Want to talk?" she ventured.

"I'm fine, Lisbon. Really."

"Yeah, you don't seem fine to me."

"It's just the weather. There's something depressing about the rain."

"I guess…" she answered dubiously.

"Especially when mixed with an unidentified dead man."

"You're never normally that affected by a body."

They both fell silent, knowing that, on rare occasions it was a lie. Red John cases always affected him, always sent him spiraling off the rails and meant that Lisbon herself was clawing to drag him back to sanity. But that didn't matter, not right now. It was just one of those days, one of those moods. Both of them were fighting against the inevitable, trying to keep their spirits up. In order to distract herself, Lisbon took a sip of the hot chocolate. He'd even added marshmallows to it, something which took her by surprise. Like the rhymes he'd been reciting, it reminded her of childhood, though this time, her own. When her mom used to tuck her into bed on Winter nights, with a nightcap of hot chocolate. She smiled wistfully and Jane quickly reciprocated.

"Drip, drip, drop, little April Showers…"

"Jane?"

"Yes, Lisbon?"

"It isn't even April."

end


	12. Angry

**A/N: **So it has been an age since I last updated. Would saying I have around 100,000 words to upload from the beginning of January go any way to placating people for my absence? I've been writing furiously for the past month or so, but it's all tied up as various Big Bangs and Holiday Challenges, honestly.

That being said, I thought as no one has entered this month's Paint It Red Monthly Challenge (please, please join and participate? It's not as fun with just 2/3 people...), I would use the excuse to quickly write this. And as an apology and a way of saying that stuff is coming soon.

Thank you to: Wldwmn, livingandthriving, Brown Eyes Parker, Frogster, MeltedChocoButton, Aeidhryn, TeresaLisbonCBI and Viktorija (welcome back, I've missed you too!) for reviewing _Rain_. Also to the kind souls who voted it as one of the winners of last month's challenge.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Unfinished Conversations  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating: **T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary: **She knew what she was getting into when dealing with Jane and instead, had let herself fall too far. AU Post 3x24.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Notes: **Written for the Paint It Red December Monthly Challenge. 50 Phrases: Angry

**Unfinished Conversations**

She picked up his shirt from the floor. Carelessly, he'd left it there three days ago. That was the last time he'd been in her home. The last time they'd been alone together since. Since…

As she straightened, she winced. A jolt of pain shot through her arm. Just as the doctor said it would when she'd insisted upon being discharged early. Bertram had told her to forget about Jane, but how could she even dream of doing such a thing? As for everyone else, her brothers included, they had said she was more than a little mad, but she needed to see him. Needed to speak to him.

How else was she going to understand why?

There was nothing he could say, no apologies could fix this, but she still needed to give him a chance to have his say.

When the pain subsided, she lifted the shirt to her face and inhaled his scent. She smiled slightly at the thought of him ripping it off, as if it were nothing, before he'd wrapped her up in a passionate embrace and whisked her upstairs. It felt like only yesterday that that had happened. Being with him had its positives, but, it had been stressful more often than not. There were so many questions, so many worries. Had she managed to convince him to give up on Red John? (obviously not.) Would he have ever really moved on from the loss of his wife and child? (clearly, no.) Did he actually love her for her? (debatable.) Or was he just looking for an excuse to dull the pain, to stop feeling like he was frozen solid inside? (well, maybe.)

Why then, did she feel like her heart was being ripped out in two? Lisbon had promised herself that she wouldn't get too attached to him, that she would tread carefully. Even after their relationship slowly developed from friendship into something more, she had vehemently denied that it remotely resembled anything like love. She knew what she was getting into when dealing with Jane and instead, had let herself fall too far.

It was always the way, with her. She never fell for the right guy. Her first boyfriend, at the tender age of thirteen, had practically ignored her. The next was a tool, who stole the family car shortly after her father's death. One of the more recent hadn't bothered to tell her about the supposedly insignificant detail that he was already married.

And as for now… well. Jane fit in with all of her previous suitors just perfectly. He had more battle scars than decorated war heroes. She had been tasked with the insurmountable job of trying to piece him back together again. For the most part, she had believed she'd done a respectable job. He had seemed more human of late. At least he had done since they had started their little affair.

That was until she'd been hospitalized, no thanks to Craig O'Laughlin, and woke up post-surgery to discover he'd killed a man. It was Red John, supposedly, though there were lingering doubts in the back of her mind about that one.

She had known that it was his intention to flush out Red John, so that he could face him head on. It had been his idea that Cho and Rigsby should accompany him, simply because they both didn't trust her to not get involved. He'd promised her that as soon as he'd said his part that he would hand Red John over to the pair of them, after he'd managed to get a confession out of the bastard. She had even known that he didn't believe that Bertram was the mole, but O'Laughlin was. That he was simply trying to double-bluff the serial killer by framing the CBI's director. Lisbon had naturally been more than a little uncomfortable with the scenario, but had her anger had been tempered by the bunch of red roses that were now wilting on the side board.

How could she have even trusted him in the first place? She knew Jane's track record. Knew that he lied, cheated, squandered, just to get his own way time and time again. Lisbon had lost count of the number of stunts he'd pulled on her over the years. The filed complaints, the barely dodged lawsuits were all testament to just how much of a loose cannon Jane was. If Santa Claus existed and he had a list, then Jane would probably have been on the naughty list by default for life.

Why had she believed that any lingering affection for her would have changed how he behaved?

He'd always promised her that when it came to Red John, then he would kill him. Why should the fact that she (not he, obviously) was falling in love with him change that little detail? He needed his closure and anything she did meant nothing.

Or that's how it felt anyway.

With more than a little discomfort, she pulled on some respectable clothing. The sooner she got to the county jail, the sooner Jane would have a chance to explain himself. The sooner she would be able to put this sorry affair behind her.

Her mind was running at ten to the dozen, trying desperately to think of what she could say to him. Pithy phrases like 'screw you' were never far from her thoughts. After all they had been through, surely she had deserved more forewarning than a few lies to placate the beast simmering below?

The truth was, she didn't know if she would be able to say it at all. After all, it was partially her fault. She had been taken in by his words. Had wanted to believe that everything he said was true. That he really would have allowed Red John to be tried in a court of law. That he had changed because of – and for – her.

But it wasn't only that.

It had barely been hours since she had last heard from Jane and already, she missed him. Missed his touch, missed his jokes and missed his smile.

She even missed his inappropriate behavior, his ability to make her smile and cringe at exactly the same time. He was like a candy cane in July. Completely off-beat and out of season, but somehow he made it work.

She just missed him.

But that didn't mean he was forgiven. It didn't mean she didn't deserve answers.

And that, she decided as she climbed into her car, was exactly what she was heading off to get.

end


	13. Bliss

**A/N: **This is the first of my many Mentalist-related Holiday Fics. Instead of doing the Holiday Fics challenge in December, I shifted it to January to ease my writing schedule. This is probably a sensible idea, to be honest! However, it does mean I'm going to be posting a crazy amount this month. Such is life.

Thank you to: Frogster, Miss Peg and TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme for reviewing Unfinished Conversations.

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Angels In The Room  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** Because of her, your resolve is crumbling.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes:** Written for browneyesparker as part of the Holiday Fics challenge. Spoilers for Season Four.

**Angels In The Room**

_All the mistakes I've made  
The wrong turns on this road  
Have only led me to your arms_  
- Angels In The Room, Delta Goodrem

It's quiet, peaceful.

The sound of the roaring waves is soothing and you smile. There's something about the ocean which just helps you to switch off, to forget everything. It's better than any medicine that can be prescribed. The sea can be unforgiving and cruel on one day and then the next, still and quiet. It's constantly changing, constantly evolving. Never is it the same.

The wind whips her hair and frustrated, she pushes it to one side. Automatically, you step forward to help her. She smiles slightly, clearly embarrassed. It's the kind of thing that always annoys her, especially since she's let her hair grow longer and it's a sign of a lack of control. However, at the same time, she appreciates little gestures like that and you know it.

That's why you do it.

Nobody else does it to her. Nobody else has the audacity to dare touch, to ruffle the feathers of the no-nonsense Teresa Lisbon. They don't know how to push her buttons, like you do. Sometimes, they forget she's human, rather than superwoman. The team certainly think she's capable of anything. More so now, than ever before. After all, she has (with your assistance) just rescued her career from the abyss.

Or, they just simply choose to respect her as the boss, whereas you don't have time for mere formalities such as business hierarchy.

You take a step forward and offer her support along the pebbled beach. When she accepts your hand, you're pleasantly surprised. Fiercely dependant, is Lisbon. She's had to be, it's no fault of her own. And besides, old habits die hard. But she's letting you in, as you are her.

The sun is blazing down, but you're grateful that the wind that is irking Lisbon so is present. It takes away from the fierce intensity, cools things down a little.

It's just a normal day. There's a case, which you're working on at present. To the outsider, it may look like you're just a couple, taking a pleasant walk along the beach. But you're not. You're looking for the hideaway which the kids use to escape from the world. There, there might be some clues as to one of their number was brutally slain. You won't know until you find it and the children had been intentionally vague when describing the location.

Except, it's not. A normal day, that is.

Something's different and what, you cannot quite be sure.

You wish you could pinpoint how and why. You hate it whenever you don't have control, whenever you can't identify and compartmentalize something. It's your way of having control on your life, after you'd lost everything so brutally.

Leaning down, you pick up a piece of sea glass and offer it to her. Last time you did that, she just scoffed at you and it was cast aside, forgotten about in a moment. This time, you notice she takes it and admires it in the sunlight. Surreptitiously, she slips it into her jacket pocket. She thinks you didn't notice, but you did.

You always do.

It's destined to head for a drawer in her lounge, one where she keeps an assortment of oddments and knick-knacks. Things she wants to keep for sentimental reasons, but refuses to display because she has to keep up appearances.

She likes to look cool and aloof, but you know her resolve is crumbling. As is yours.

You're getting closer faster and faster. It's already gotten to the stage when you couldn't imagine what your life would be without her.

Would you have even survived this long, if she hadn't intervened?

Well, who knows? All you know for certain is that she doesn't give herself the credit that she's due. After all, as far as Lisbon is concerned, Sophie Miller is the one who is entirely responsible for saving your life. It's true, in some respects. If it wasn't for her, then you would have never met Lisbon. You would have killed yourself a long, long while ago. It would have been physically impossible for you to cope with the magnitude of what you've done.

Even though Red John was the one to take the knife to Angela and Charlotte, you are responsible. You provoked him. If you hadn't, then he would never have chosen to take the course he did. Ergo, arguably, you could have essentially just cut out the middleman and done it yourself.

The only reason you're hunting him is because you feel an undeniable need for payback. He took something precious from you, so you want to equal it out. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Fair's fair.

None of that changes the fact that if you hadn't met Lisbon, then you would most likely have had a relapse. Several, in fact.

And because of it, because of her, your resolve is crumbling. You've already killed the wrong man once. How many more mistakes are you going to make? How much more blood will there be on your hands before you finally stick the knife into the right man?

Except, there is another way. There's always another way. Lisbon has told you that time and time again in the past. Red John need not die just because you say so. It's always possible to catch him and hand him over to the criminal justice system. California, after all, still has the death penalty and there is absolutely no way he would get anything but that.

She points towards the cliff-side. A small nook, hardly noticeable. It looks promising and you tell her as such. Lisbon smiles beatifically and you cannot help but notice just how beautiful she is in the sunlight. Well, you are but a man, after all.

You don't let go of her hand as you amble towards it.

Maybe it is time to say enough is enough? Maybe, it's time to give Lisbon exactly what she wants and that's Red John. Though, she has given up requesting for that, of late. Then again, she's one of the many that remains convinced that Red John is dead. That his identity was Timothy Carter.

Or maybe, it's just something to think about later? When you're not in her presence and therefore, not distracted by tempting 'what ifs'.

But still, you cannot deny that for once in your life, you actually feel like you're at peace. Happy, even. Like this is some sort of heaven.

Except, how can it be, without your wife and daughter and possibly, more importantly, without any belief whatsoever?

But it's close enough.


	14. Withdrawn

**A/N: **So, this is the second of many Mentalist related Holiday Fics I will be posting this month. This time, it's for my lovely twin, Divinia Serit. Who needs to be back on her feet and writing soon.

Thank you to: Wldwmn, Brown Eyes Parker, Frogster, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme and anthropologist for reviewing Angels in the Room.

Until tomorrow, I think...

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Storm Warning  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Characters:** Cho, Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** With Lisbon out of action, _somebody_ has to give Jane a kick up the ass.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes:** Written for Divinia Serit as part of the Holiday Fics challenge. Spoilers for Season Four.

**Storm Warning**

It had been a stressful day.

It always was, whenever one of them was involved in an accident of one form or another. And when it was Lisbon especially, it was more draining than most. After all, she was meant to be their fearless leader. She just didn't get hurt, she always got out unscathed.

And if she didn't, well, she always had to make it pretty spectacular.

Cho had just left the hospital. He wasn't sure what had made him decide to head straight back to the CBI headquarters. Theoretically, he knew that he could have chosen to go home, to the loving arms of Elise. Instead, he was at work. It was possibly because he couldn't get the image of Lisbon looking so small, so vulnerable in hospital. Hooked up to machinery, only breathing because a ventilator was doing it for her.

He shuddered. This was worse than when she had been shot by O'Laughlin. Far, far worse. They all knew it, only none of them wanted to admit it.

But she would get back on her feet again, she had to. Cho had faith in her, because that was the only thing he was certain of. Lisbon was made of stronger stuff than this; it would take more than this to take her down for good.

For some reason, he had expected the bullpen to be empty. Though, when he saw Jane, slouched on his couch, with a bottle of something in his hands, he wasn't entirely surprised. Sometimes, it seemed like Jane had nowhere else to go, so simply chose to remain in the headquarters regardless of whether or not he should actually be there. He had other places he could stay, he simply opted not to go there. Cho briefly surmised that Jane was searching for them same thing that he was by being in this building: a place of solitude.

The CBI headquarters was almost always quiet in the still of the night. Usually, it was just the security personnel who were on and maybe, a team or two if they were in the middle of making a bust. Thankfully, for both Cho and Jane, that wasn't the case. However, Cho suspected that Jane had wished that he had never turned up at all. Then, it would have been possible for him to wallow in his self-pity, alone, without having to consider what somebody else thought.

Even Jane worried about what others thought of him, on occasion. Or more specifically, he was concerned about what _Lisbon _thought of him.

And he was blaming himself. That much was obvious.

Cho sat beside him on the couch and was surprised when Jane didn't argue. Normally, nobody else was allowed to share the piece of furniture without expressed permission. On one occasion, Cho had caught Rigsby reclining on it and the man had sprung away from the couch, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Immediately, Cho knew that things were bad. Jane was rarely like this, excepting when Red John had killed again.

Or, if he had had a brutal reminder of his family. Everybody had their demons, but Jane's were more obvious than most. The ghosts of his wife and daughter were never too far from Jane's mind. They haunted him, every step of the way and it was obvious to pretty much everyone who had a chance to meet him.

Jane never seemed to get that maintaining his perpetual state of anger and grief wasn't helping anybody. He needed to move on for his own sake, as much as anybody else's. Cho did feel sorry for him, terribly so. Losing his family so horrifically was always going to have such a massive effect on him. Nobody could expect any differently.

Except, they could expect that somebody like Jane especially should be able to realize that you cannot change the past. The only thing you have an effect on is your own future.

And if he wasn't careful, he going to land up killing himself, one way or another.

Cho knew that Jane was blaming himself for Lisbon's current predicament. It may have been an accident, it may have been unpreventable, but as far as Jane was concerned, it was his fault. He should have intercepted, stopped her from putting herself in the situation in the first place. Convinced her that it was a risk too far, instead of standing on the sidelines, expecting her to come out of it unscathed.

But, if that were the case, then theoretically, they were all to blame, one way or another. If Van Pelt had researched the area a little more thoroughly, if Rigsby had been quicker to draw his gun, if Cho himself had been ever so slightly faster on his feet…

However, there was no point in thinking like that. If he did, then Cho knew that he would be in the same position as Jane. With a constant chip on his shoulder and fighting demons that he had no hope in hell of beating. What was the point? It was just a waste of a life to live like that.

"Jane."

No answer.

"Jane."

Still, he remained silent, staring out into space with a vacant expression.

"It wasn't your fault."

Jane put the bottle to his lips, uncaring. He had still barely acknowledged that Cho was present at all. It was irritating him. Cho was rarely the one to try and break Jane out of his reverie and he briefly wondered how others - Lisbon - did it. If there was some kind of magic charm that could make him see sense.

"It's not worth it, man."

He prized the bottle of whiskey carefully from Jane's hand and placed it out of reach. Jane pouted but didn't make any effort to try and reclaim it. Cho suspected that he knew that he was too far gone to put up any real fight. Besides, what with Cho's training, even if Jane was completely in control of his mind and body, when it came to physicality, he was always going to come off worse.

"Go see her," Cho stated, staring determinedly at Jane. "Tomorrow."

"She won't hear a thing; she won't notice that I'm there. She won't…"

"Go."

"Why?"

"You never know."


	15. Anxious

**A/N:** How soon will it be until I run out of interesting things to say in author's notes, because I'm posting more often than I had been now? Oh wait... ;-)

Oh no, I do have a random fact about this one: ch19777 said I had to keep it under 500 words as anything I write for her tends to end up a minimum of 40k. Well, I didn't manage under 500, but it does come in under 1,000. I'd say that's close enough.

Thank you to: Wldwmn, anthropologist, SharpestSatire, Brown Eyes Parker, Aeidhryn and TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme for reviewing _Storm Warning_.

Until tomorrow (again).

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Traitor  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Lisbon  
**Summary:** This was her last-ditch effort in order to get back the one thing she had worked so hard for.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes:** Written for ch19777 as part of the Holiday Fics challenge. Spoilers for Season Four.

**Traitor**

Her arm was throbbing. It rarely stopped hurting at the moment, so Lisbon disregarded it. She told herself that it was simply a part of the healing process, that given time, it would go away without medical assistance. She could cope with a little bit of pain; it wasn't as if she hadn't been through worse in the past. And it wasn't as if it wouldn't happen again at some point in the future, either.

Instead, she carried on walking. Lisbon kept her head down and ignored everyone else. She didn't want to stop and chat. Besides, most of the other people in the building would have wondered why she was here, why she wasn't at home, resting. What business she had here when she had been _suspended_? It was just up the stairs now, then a turn to the right. Carry on straight to his office.

She couldn't back out. Not now she had made this decision.

It was for the greater good, wasn't it? It was the right thing to do. It had to be.

But, but…

She was breaking Jane's trust, his confidence in her and inexplicably so. This was something she had never done before, not really. In the past, she had pretty much stood beside him. Lisbon knew that even though she had doubted Jane time and time again, he had never questioned his faith in her. Then again, she had never given him cause nor reason to.

Not until now, anyway.

And even then, she had no intention of letting him know about this.

However, there had been so many things that she hadn't wanted to let him know about. But this was Jane. That meant he would probably find out about it sooner rather than later. The next time he saw her, he would most likely just _know _what she had done.

Theoretically, she knew she could just turn on her heels and go home. Or to the mall, to get some new shoes, not that she particularly wanted (or needed) any. Or to James' house and see her newborn nephew for the very first time. Nobody knew she was here yet, they wouldn't know any different if she just slipped away to anywhere but here.

But then again, there was a reason she was here.

Her job was on the line. Lisbon knew that she needed to do something, anything to save it. This was her last-ditch effort in order to get back the one thing she had worked so hard for. There was no way that she could entrust something like her career in somebody else's hands any longer, least of all Jane's. If she did that, then he would more than likely proceed to make it all the worse. Unintentionally, of course, but that wasn't the point.

Wasting Gale Bertram's time by organizing meetings and then not keeping them would only have weakened her case. Have made the management all the more convinced that she was incompetent. They wouldn't have even bothered waiting for the hearing to put the final nail in the proverbial coffin. She had a chance to do something, right here, right now, to give them half a chance to reconsider before firing her.

Not that she held out all that much hope for it anyway. But still, she had to try.

Apprehensively, she knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Steeling herself, she entered Bertram's office. That was the first step. To what, she wasn't quite sure. It was also the one that secured her fate. No turning back now, not unless she wanted to make herself appear like a complete and utter fool. Well more so than Lisbon suspected he believed her to be already.

"Ah, Agent Lisbon," he said, with a brief smile. "Take a seat."

The use of her job title unnerved her; she wasn't an agent, not now. Still, she shook her head. Lisbon didn't want to stay for long. All night, she had been questioning herself about this decision, even more so than when she had made the initial call to Bertram. Was she selling Jane out to the devil for her own benefit? Was she really being that selfish? Or was she really doing it for the greater good?

Or was it simply a combination? Was it too complicated to put into a defined category?

After all, Jane had put her into a tricky predicament. He had had no need to tell her that Red John was still alive. Or at least, that he had suspected as such. That although Timothy Carter had been a monster, he hadn't been the famed serial killer.

"Can I offer you a cup of tea? Coffee?"

Again, she shook her head. Part of her wished that she could accept the offer. Her mouth felt dry, but she knew that by accepting, she was prolonging the inevitable. She couldn't just stand in Bertram's office for hours on end, sipping at a cup of tea, just to stop herself from speaking.

Besides, it wasn't like her to do that. If something needed doing, she was going to do it.

"I have reason to believe that Red John is still alive," she eventually stated, when the silence had grown unbearable.

"Oh? But I believed the case was closed?" he said, indicating to a familiar file that was now resting on his desk. "You better not be wasting my time."

"I'm not," she said hurriedly and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her right ear nervously. "Or at least, I don't _think_ I am."

"What is the reason for your belief?"

"Jane told me."

end


	16. Scared

**A/N: **Dear world, please stop conspiring against me. I don't want another migraine the day before I'm going to see The Phantom of the Opera.

Thank you to: Aeidhryn, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme and anthropologist for reviewing _Traitor_.

Also, finally another one which has a decent amount of length to it. ;-)

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Fault Lines  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon, Lisbon/unspecified.  
**Summary:** How can a man come back from the dead?  
**Disclaimer:** If it was mine, I wouldn't need a disclaimer.  
**Notes:** Spoilers for 4x07 Blinking Red Light. Written as part of the Holiday Fics challenge, this time, for cifre. Also for mentalistprompt, prompt 076: flirt

**Fault Lines**

_Observe your enemies, for they first find out your faults.  
_- Antisthenes

She's walking down the street when it happens.

It's her day off and thus, she's off duty. She can do what she likes, whenever she likes and nothing can stop her. Therefore, Teresa Lisbon is lost in her own world, even if the traitorous thoughts about cases and the like cannot stop invading her mind.

Then again, it is only _one_ day off, so that can be forgiven. There's no rest for the wicked.

Or anybody else, for that matter.

Fingers clasp around her slender wrist unexpectedly. Turning on her heels, she half expects it to be Jane. He's the only person _daring_ enough to touch her in such a way. But she already knows it cannot be him; he's at work and she saw him driving to the CBI headquarters from her bedroom window this morning. Not that she'll admit to knowing he drives past her place to work every day, never, never.

She recognizes the face. But she shouldn't. And that's half the problem.

Looking back at her is the face of a man she _knows _is dead. She's seen the photographs of Timothy Carter's body. Nobody can rise back from the dead, nobody except for…

Automatically, she uses her left hand to take hold of her cross necklace, the one her mom handed down to her. Silently, she recites words all too familiar to her. Then, she rearranges her features, to one that resembles irritation and confusion, rather than sheer shock. But it's too slow. It's always too slow. Honesty, that's what it is. An honest face will tell the truth before it has a chance to conceal it. And even then, there's the flaws between the lines, where it'll seep out. The nervous twitch of an eyelid, the quirk of a lip…

"You know who I am."

"No, I don't," she stutters slightly, jerking her hand, attempting to make him let go. "I've never seen you before."

"True," the man concedes and he acquiesces. "But that doesn't mean you don't know who I am."

"And what makes you say that?" Lisbon asks, the sarcasm dripping off of her every word.

"Honest eyes," he says with a wry smile. "And you're a cop. Good cops make terrible liars. And you? You're one of the best."

"Oh really?" she says, though she's annoyed at the fact that _everyone _blames her incapability of concealing the truth on those reasons.

"That's because it's true, Teresa."

She frowns slightly and takes a step backwards. He knows her name. Then again, if he is who he implies he is, then maybe, that isn't as surprising as it should be. Still, she cannot help but turn around and walk hastily away.

Half of her expects him to follow (Jane would), but she's relieved when he doesn't.

xxx

His audacity is what's keeping her up tonight.

She stares upwards, into the inky darkness. The curtains she invested in a couple of years ago do a marvelous job at blotting out the street lamps, turning the night sky into an orangey haze. Sometimes, she wonders if they do too good a job.

Turning over, she reaches out and turns on her lamp light. Somehow, the soothing light relieves her. Not that she has anything to be scared of. She's Teresa Lisbon, lead agent of the Serious Crimes Unit of the CBI. Tough as nails, hard-nosed, no-nonsense, straight as an arrow.

(Or rather, she used to be, before she knew Jane, anyway.)

Jane's the only other person she knows to be as arrogant as, as, well, him.

Lisbon pinches the bridge of her nose, in the vain hope that it'll abate the impending headache. It doesn't, of course, it never does. But that doesn't mean she cannot help but try. Sometimes, she really is too hopeful for her own good.

Tomorrow, (or rather, later today), she decides. Tomorrow, she'll have to do some more looking into Timothy Carter. To try and understand what the hell is going on.

If anything is at all.

That man - him - he didn't mean anything. Red John is dead and she knows that somehow, he's playing with Jane's mind from beyond the grave. Using his acolytes to make sure that Jane never moves on.

So why the hell is, was, _is_ he so interested in playing mind games with her too?

xxx

Everything she searches for, everything she does, tells her nothing she didn't already know.

Timothy Carter's history is all established facts, things she knows. She's half-tempted to ask Van Pelt for help (she's better at these searches than she is; Lisbon can admit to that, albeit reluctantly), but she believes it's a step too far. If she shows a little too much interest, a comment too far, then the red-head will start asking questions.

And if she starts asking questions, then it won't be long until the others follow suit.

Truth be told, she's surprised Jane hasn't brought anything up yet. Lisbon knows she's spending longer in her office than usual, putting in more hours behind the computer screen than ever before. Uncharacteristic behavior like that always raises Jane's alarm bells and she wishes she could do more to hide it.

Instead, she masks it behind a veil of concern for him. (Not that she _isn't_, mind, she's almost perpetually worried about Jane's wellbeing.) Says that she's trying to find ways to prove that for once and for all, Red John is actually dead.

When in reality, she's attempting to do the exact opposite.

xxx

They meet next in a motel in Northern California.

A girl has been strangled to death and naturally, they've been assigned the case. It's too complex, too deep for the locals and unusually, they're more than happy to hand it over to the professionals.

The others drift off to their respective rooms before he appears from out of the shadows and joins her in the bar. Couldn't risk being seen before, not with Jane around. He'd have given her consultant a heart attack (probably literally) if he had risked emerging any sooner.

"Who are you?" she asks before taking a sip of her lemonade. Nothing stronger, not while she's on the job.

"I don't need to tell you that, Teresa."

"I didn't mean him, that," she corrects herself, thinking, _if I had the proof, beyond your saying you're him, then I would slap these handcuffs on you faster than you can say 'you're under arrest.'_ "I meant your real identity. Your name."

He laughs slightly and she frowns in response. The telltale crease line between her eyebrows is there; she doesn't need a mirror to see it. Lisbon flinches as he covers her hand with his own, but he pretends not to notice. They both know he has; she barely knows him and yet, there's no secrets and lies on her front. Just the straight facts.

She wishes the same could be said for him.

"I have many names."

"Don't you dare," she chides, she gets enough of this from Jane. "Don't play games with me."

"What does it matter? Nobody uses it anymore."

"Then what do you call yourself?""Red John," he says, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

xxx

"You okay?"

Jane looks surprisingly concerned as he asks. It's not that she doesn't expect him to worry about her; it's just that she doesn't believe he shows it in the way that _normal_ people would. After all, Patrick Jane is anything but normal. She doesn't know why he's asking, he's repeatedly described her as translucent, an open book, words that essentially come down to the same meaning. That he understands her and especially, how her mind works. He doesn't need to ask if she's okay. He just knows.

However, he's asking merely to be polite. For a change.

"I'm fine," she answers dubiously. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugs and she finds herself irritated by it. He knows. He knows that she's in contact (being stalked?) by Red John. Instead of telling her the fact, he's just waiting for her to come clean, to admit it to her. Something about catharsis, probably. That it'll make her feel better and get rid of the tension headaches she suffers from if she does.

Not that it will. The tension headaches are a part of her day to day existence. She accepted that fact a long time ago. In fact, the only time she felt remotely better, was when she was on suspension.

Of course, she's pleased to have her old job back. She loves working for the CBI and with her team. It's just… stressful.

Even more so with Red John lurking around every corner. That's enough to set anybody on edge.

Lisbon watches as Jane drifts back off towards the bullpen and presumably, his couch.

She swears that one of these days, her choice of lifestyle is going to drive her into the ground. And with two men hounding her from both sides, she fears that day is going to come sooner rather than later.

xxx

It's taken her a long while, but now she's found proof of the obvious answer.

Timothy Carter had - has - an identical twin brother.

She's coming to the conclusion that Red John was never just one man. Now, it's evident that he is a family. A group of individuals, related by blood.

A family of serial killers is just what she needs.

Unfortunately, she still lacks the hard evidence that Carter's twin is Red John. His admission should theoretically be enough. After all, she is a cop and her testimony carries weight, as do most confessions, ordinarily. However, no court, no jury, would be comfortable going on that alone. Not for Red John, not as they believe he's already dead. They'd want undeniable facts and proof.

Something which she is finding increasingly impossible to get her hands on.

After all, a simple name isn't enough. Especially when the name is of somebody who is meant to have died at the age of three months, thanks to a case of meningitis.

xxx

Lisbon saw most of Jane's interview with Karen Cross about the SJK case. She could tell what Jane was doing, that he was trying to lure out Red John.

Why? As some kind of sick proof to her that Red John is still alive, when she already knows? Or as proof that he knows she knows?It hurts her head just thinking about it.

So, when the telephone call from a rather shell-shocked ADA comes through, she isn't entirely surprised.

She makes her way to the crime scene in record time, before she's even had a chance to call for the others, never mind backup.

For an hour, she stares at the smiley face on the wall. Why now? He's too smart, too damn clever to fall for one of Jane's tricks. He's been under Jane's nose time and time again, so why did this Carter brother give Jane exactly what he wanted? It's baffling; Red John doesn't do this. He has his own agenda; he doesn't bend it to other people.

Surely he knew that Panzer had been set up to look like a fool by _Jane_? That Panzer had been tricked into mocking Red John and all that he stands for?

Red John has shown mercy to inadvertent victims in the past. Why not this time?

When Jane finally arrives, he looks almost stunned by the smiley face, by Panzer's butchered body. Not because he never expected it to happen, Lisbon suspects, but because he didn't expect it to happen _so soon_.

She watches carefully as he moves his way around the scene, taking in all the smallest details, trying desperately to find something more to lead him to what he believes is the _real _Red John. Lisbon knows it's entirely possible that Timothy Carter was the man to kill his family, but as far as Jane's concerned, the man who painted _this _smiley face is the one who was responsible.

What Jane doesn't know is that there's something more. Something she's already lifted from the crime scene and had spirited away to forensics before he had even gotten into his car. A brand new knife, the same type used in all of Red John's previous killings was left at the scene of the crime.

Engraved on it, along with one of Red John's trademark smiley faces?

_T- _

_pour vous_

_xxx_

end


	17. Negative

**A/N: **So, I'm back with more to update to this collection. Will probably update Mistletoe and Red Wine tonight as well. It's not as if it's going anywhere, so I might as well. This one is another request by Divinia Serit. She always leaves such interesting prompts.

Thank you to: Wldwmn, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, livingandthriving, anthropologist, Aeidhryn and Iloveplotbunnies for reviewing Fault Lines.

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Difference  
**Author:** tromana**  
****Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Lisbon, Minelli  
**Summary:** What is the difference between a serial killer and a cop? And the way it could end.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes:** Written for Divinia Serit as part of the Holiday Fics challenge. Also for mentalistprompt Table I.

**Difference**

It's a contradiction.

Thou shalt not kill. That's what it says in the bible, clear as day.

Thou shalt not kill.

And yet, she's killed more people than the average (_hah_) serial killer. Of course, she hasn't ever wanted to, and the majority of the time, it's been a case of kill or be killed, but she's still done it.

Pulled the trigger, ended lives.

Did it really matter that the people who had died at her hands had done so because they were evil-doers? That they were murderers in their own rights?Did it change a thing because she was doing her job, upholding he law?

Not really, she suspects.

A life is still a life, regardless of what that person has done. And she has been thrust into the position where she has had to make the decision as to whether or not somebody should live or die. Essentially, she has been playing God.

She shakes her head to try and dispel the thoughts. Sips at the whiskey that has been placed in her hands. It burns the back of her throat, just as a good whiskey should. She doesn't feel like downing it, not really. Lisbon isn't in the mood for that.

Minelli, however, is smiling at her.

And why shouldn't he? She, his protégé, is the one who finally managed to single-handedly bring down the serial killer commonly known as Red John. The student has finally bested the teacher in the classiest of ways. And it's only been achieved within five years of his retirement, as well.

Like her, his fingers are clasped tightly around a shot glass. It's his third. He's relapsed since splitting with his latest partner, the one that had taken him to Alcoholics Anonymous. However, Lisbon doesn't say a word. She knows she should, for she's lived through this before, but somehow, it doesn't feel like it's her place to say.

She would if she could, but she can't. The words stick to the back of her throat, somehow.

Besides, who is she to judge? They're both doomed to Hell as it is.

Lisbon lets go of the glass and clasps hold of her cross. It provides just a little comfort, in times of self-doubt. It's a connection to her mom as well as her God.

She could only hope that they'd both forgive her for all that she's done.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine."

It's only a half-truth and they both know it. Physically, she is fine. It's the emotional scars that will last a lifetime that will prove problematic. Unfortunately, getting Lisbon to talk is a task too far for Virgil Minelli. She's still relatively secretive by nature, keeps herself to herself. She isn't about to change the habit of a lifetime.

All too clearly, they both remember their first introduction. When he head-hunted her from the San Francisco Police Department and placed her straight in his newly formed Serious Crimes Unit. The SCU has been home to her for years and slowly, but surely, she worked her way through the ranks within it. Back then, she had been naïve, full of hope for the future. She knew what she wanted from life and nothing was going to stop her. She was convinced that life had meaning.

Now, she isn't so sure.

Though she'd like to think otherwise, her career is in tatters. Yes, she still has her position as head of the SCU, but where else can she go? Half the state thinks she physically cannot work without the CBI (or Jane. Or _both_.) propping her up. The other half is still stuck in the twentieth century, convinced she cannot do a thing because she's a _woman_. Her career had been promising, once upon a time. She could have gone far.

Now, anything she does is too little, too late.

With a sigh, she sips at her drink again. Minelli pours himself a fourth and offers her a top up. She declines, politely, of course. He shrugs his shoulders, toasts to her good health before downing it.

"Red John," he says, "the career-maker."

Lisbon nods in agreement, though she's yet to be convinced of that. It's not as if there's been a line of people trying to knock down her door to offer her lucrative positions elsewhere. It's not as if she's really heard from anyone at all.

_This is the way the world ends, _she thinks. T.S. Eliot had been a wise man. _Not with a bang, but a whimper._

And why should it be anything more than that? Red John was but one man. He may have caused irreparable damage to a handful of lives - hers included, probably - but that didn't mean there was necessarily going to be an outcry of relief. It didn't make her a hero. Didn't make her a better cop. Didn't mean she deserves a better a job.

Nothing's changed, except for the nagging sense of guilt in the back of her mind. Red John should have been tried in a court of law. She should have had the chance to let them make the decision with how to handle him. It should never have come down to her and her alone.

But it had done so.

"And Jane? How's he coping?"

She's surprised that Minelli is even concerned for Jane's well-being at all. Though, like Lisbon, he had been the one responsible for Jane's hiring, the two had often had an antagonistic relationship. Both men had been able to appreciate that the other was necessary, but it didn't mean they'd had to _like_ one another.

Still, his concern is touching, if a little misguided.

"He's gone."

"Gone as in?"

"Left, resigned, disappeared."

It's true. Lisbon doesn't know when - or if - she'll hear from Jane again. Part of her is relieved to be shot of him. At times, he was nothing but trouble. The other part misses him and terribly so. He'd become an innate part of her life; it had gotten to the stage where she could barely remember a time without him. But as quickly as he'd entered her life, he'd left it again. Gone with the wind.

Red John is dead. He has no more requirements for the CBI. It's just as he had always said.

Minelli touches her forearm softly with two fingers. She smiles weakly at him and downs her drink.

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

"He'll come back."

She wishes she could share her mentor's optimism.

end


	18. Apologetic

**A/N: **Day 11 of holiday fics and I'm still going. My hands are also way too dry from washing up at work. Oh well.

Thank you to: Aeidhryn, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme and Frogster for reviewing Difference.

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Sorry  
**Author:** tromana**  
****Rating: **T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** She didn't know quite how it happened.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes:** Written for justlook3 as a part of the holiday fics challenge.

**Sorry**

Cause I know I said I'm sorry but that's not what I meant to say  
_What I Meant to Say_ - Daughtry

She was angry.

So was he.

She didn't want him to throw his life away on a fruitless quest for revenge. It never solved anything. Usually, it made things all the worse, not better. It led to complications and heartache. It meant that people clung onto the past desperately, for far longer than was entirely necessary.

Lisbon also knew that revenge was what had stopped Jane from having the emotional healing he so desperately required.

Besides, he'd already had one reprieve. He'd already suspected that Timothy Carter was Red John and killed him as a result. By a wing and a prayer, he had managed to do something she generally hated: to get away with murder.

Yet, being Jane, for some reason, she found herself not minding quite as much as she should.

But that didn't stop her from being determined to make him see the light before it killed him. She wouldn't be made to feel sorry for it, either. This was for his, their, own good. He couldn't continue fighting for ghosts, he need to live his own life. Get his head out of the sand and realize that life was worth living, and that he didn't have to remain trapped in the past.

That it didn't matter how anguished and broken he was, there were still people who cared about him for one reason or another.

Unfortunately, as always, Jane seemed to have other things on his mind.

xxx

She didn't know quite how it happened.

Free time turned to socializing.

Socializing turned to dinners. Dinners which included the sharing of desserts.

In a way, it was almost inevitable that somewhere along the line, that something more would happen between them.

Part of her hated it, was screaming out about just how wrong the situation was. She was using and abusing a wounded man, somebody she was meant to be assisting. Jane wasn't meant to become one of her conquests, somebody who meant little more than sex to her. Lisbon didn't have a particularly good track record at relationships and part of her always doubted as to whether or not she could find somebody to last the distance with.

But equally, she didn't want him as just a one night stand, either. She knew she was getting sick of them, that she wanted more companionship than just something brief and fleeting for the one night.

Even lone wolves end up wanting to be paired off sooner or later.

There had always been that something she'd shared with Jane and for years, she had tried to deny its presence. Had spent time actively looking in the opposite direction to tell herself she wasn't feeling these things. That even if she did, she'd end up licking her war wounds because he was just so broken, so focused on the alternative.

Yet, she had stopped fighting, clearly.

And so had he.

Red John was still out there, but neither of them seemed willing to stop this. If anything, they were actively encouraging one another.

This was dangerous, almost too dangerous.

Her heart rate sped up considerably as she deftly undid the buttons to his shirt.

"I'm sorry," she muttered as she placed a trail of wet kisses down his chest.

xxx

It didn't last one day.

Nor did it last just the one week.

Things kept going, they kept using one another.

Or that was how it felt, anyway.

They were both still angry at the world, angry at each other, angry at themselves. Both wanted things to get easier.

And Lisbon knew that she, personally, was just sorry that she couldn't do a better job at fixing him. She wasn't a band-aid, but equally, it required more than just basic first aid supplies to fix a human being. Especially one with a heart quite as broken as Patrick Jane's.

It wasn't as if she was even particularly good at relationships herself, either.

Still, she could only promise to continue doing her best. Or wait, until it was all over again.

xxx

"Sorry," he said as he kissed her on the knuckles.

And again as he placed another one on her shoulder blades. Once more, when his lips graze against her neck. Finally, when he presses his mouth against her forehead.

He never kissed her on the mouth; for some reason, he just cannot dare to do just that. There's something too intimate, too precious about the lips for him to dare contact. Lisbon didn't need him to tell her that; she automatically knew. Worse, she felt the need to be kissed just there, to be shown that he cares about her as much as she did him.

But this was Jane. It was a miracle that he was willing to even go this far with her, never mind anything else. Lisbon knew that she should have been grateful for what she was being given, but instead, all she could feel was the resent for what he was withholding from her. And it wasn't just the kisses and the like. It was more complicated, more intricate than that. He was still holding her at arm's length, figuratively speaking. It didn't matter how much time they spent together, or how physically intimate they were, there was always something missing.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again as he undid the button on her pants and helped her slide them down to the ground.

'Sorry' was something he always said these days. Either, he genuinely meant it or it was the worst euphemism he had.

Or both. There was always that possibility, too.

xxx

The call came at five past four am.

Bleary eyed, Lisbon stretched over his prone body for her cell phone. An ADA, one she couldn't identify at that godforsaken time in the morning, was frantic on the other end of the line. Somehow, she managed to get all the information she needed out of him.

It was only after she bade the man farewell that she woke Jane.

Lisbon hated doing that. Sleep was a rare and precious commodity for him, even more so when they shared a bed. She wasn't the most settled of sleepers; Lisbon knew that she kept him awake at night with her kicks, wriggles and tossing and turning. Still, every time she suggested he favored sleeping elsewhere, he batted the suggestion away. Insisted he preferred to be close to her, to watch her doze.

Really, she knew that he was scared that if he wasn't close by, Red John would take her away from him in the dead of the night. By being with her, then he could ensure that, if he couldn't protect her, he could at least die _with_ her.

Worse, she knew what was coming. The guilt was building up in the pit of her stomach and there was nothing she could do. Couldn't even delay the inevitable, as it was her duty to attend the crime scene.

"Case?" he asked, his eyes bleary with sleep.

She nodded.

"Red John?"

Again, she nodded. There was no point in lying to him. Besides, he'd worked it out without her even having to say a word.

He was dressed and ready to leave within a minute. It felt like it took an eternity and equally, no time at all to get to the destination.

Somehow, it didn't seem real until they both saw that smiley face on the wall. The blood hadn't even dried completely, was still glistening under the lamplight. Lisbon watched Jane warily as he approached it, almost rapt. She didn't need his skills to know what he was thinking of. That he was trapped back in the moment, remembering what it was like to be faced with the face indicating that his wife and child had been brutally slain.

Automatically, she touched his arm with two fingers. Something she had done before and something, she imagined that she would have to do again in the future.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Though really, what did she have to be sorry for? She was doing her best and what more could he ask for?

Really?

xxx

"I'm sorry," she muttered.

This time, there's no worrying about whether or not it was a euphemism.

Lisbon knew because, for once, it was her doing the apologizing.

And, and…

She shook her head.

Instead, she dug the keys out of her pocket and placed them in the palm of his hand. Tears stung in the corners of her eyes and she silently cursed at herself. What was wrong with her? She always knew that it would come to this. Given the choice, she was always second best. Never the one he really wanted. It didn't matter that Angela could never come back, she had always known, deep down, that he resented her on some level.

Lisbon had seen Red John consume him time and time again. She had tried to stop it, thought she could control it. But she was wrong. As per usual. When it came to Jane, she always underestimated him. Always believed that one day, he would see that revenge was a fool's game.

She had to get out of there.

Not because she didn't love him – she did and desperately so – but for her own sanity. She couldn't continue playing second fiddle to a ghost.


	19. Hurt

**A/N: **I'd quickly like to apologise for posting two fics so close to one another, but I really am that tired and I want to go to bed soon. I have work again in the morning and have felt unwell for days (literally). But we're understaffed, so I can't afford to have a day off...

Thank you to: Brown Eyes Parker, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, anthropologist, Aeidhryn and Frogster for reviewing_ Sorry_.

I also feel the quick need to add that this update marks me crossing the 900,000 archived words barrier... :-)

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** I Know Him So Well  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** A case has Lisbon thinking; Jane tries to cheer her up. With tea.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for diviniaserit as a part of the Holiday Fics challenge. Twin - I know you asked for Lisbon solo on this one, but Jane insisted he played too.

**I Know Him So Well**

She stared up at the ceiling. Wishing, wishing that she could slow down her mind for half a second just to get some sleep.

This case was bothering her. Usually, she was able to compartmentalize effectively and just ignore it until she woke in the morning. But this one had just _got_ to her.

She wasn't even sure how or why. It didn't have anything that would normally bother her. No alcoholics abusing their children, no mothers losing their lives too young. No children whose lives had been ended brutally far too soon. It didn't seem to be particularly affecting the rest of her team either.

There was a knock at her hotel room door which jolted her from her reverie. Mumbling incoherently, Lisbon pulled herself to her feet and shambled to the door. When she opened it to see Jane, standing there with two cups of tea and a couple of bear claws, she knew she shouldn't be surprised.

"As I suspected," he said with a grin.

Lisbon suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She had long since grown used to Jane springing things on her like this. At least this time, he hadn't made a breakthrough in the case in the middle of the night and wanted to drag her to some unknown place, despite the fact she was half asleep.

Except, right now, she wasn't half asleep. Quite simply because she wasn't tired at all, however much she wished she actually was.

Wordlessly, she took a step to one side and indicated with her left arm that he was welcome to enter. Jane smiled once more as he walked past her, accidentally brushing against her ever so slightly with her shoulder. Lisbon shuddered slightly at the touch and knew Jane had noticed. Part of her was relieved that, for a change, he had the decency to ignore it.

The last thing she wanted right now was for him to pick up on that.

Because she knew, deep down, that she had feelings for him. And that they weren't going to go away any time soon. She could ignore them, pretend they didn't exist and suppress them furiously, but it didn't change a damn thing. They were still there.

But he was out of bounds. Then again, so was she.

And if she wasn't ready for a relationship, there was no chance in hell that he would be too.

Quietly, she thanked him for the tea and took a sip. It wasn't your standard tea, it was an unusual blend. Still black, but had a strange taste to it. Not unpleasant, but that was typical Jane. He couldn't do anything normally and especially not tea drinking. He wouldn't have been himself if he did something in the average way.

The silence was companionable, if a little uncomfortable on Lisbon's part. Jane rarely made social visits for no apparent reason, but equally she didn't have the energy for his style of psychoanalysis. Most of the time, she was more than happy to deal with it but now? She had too much on her mind.

This case, for one.

The sooner they closed it, the better. Not just because it was bothering her, but it also meant they could get back home, to familiar ground soon. Cases which were out of town and required longer stints elsewhere always put the team on edge. They were intelligent and highly strung individuals as it was, so putting them in situations like this was always like putting hyperactive kids in a candy store. Even if you were as careful as feasibly possible, it was still likely to lead to disaster.

And with her feeling off her game, it was just making it all the worse.

"Don't worry, we'll close this case soon," Jane assured her, though she had vocalized that concern.

Then again, with Jane, she never needed to. At times, he could read her like an open book and it always unnerved her. Really, it shouldn't anymore. She'd known him for more than long enough to familiar with his quirks and idiosyncrasies. Still, there were times when she didn't exactly forget, but almost switched off about the fact. It was then that it made her feel more uncomfortable than unnerved.

"What makes you think that?"

"Call it a hunch."

"You never tell me you hunches," she said, sounding dubious. "And if I recall correctly, that's for good reason."

"Au contraire, my dear Lisbon. I do whenever it's necessary."

"And right now, it's necessary how?"

"Because you need cheering up."

She snorted. These days, it didn't seem like much could do that. She spent so much time and energy on making sure that Jane stuck to the straight and narrow, that she never really had time for herself anymore. Especially so since he had nearly gone down for the murder of Timothy Carter. She knew that she shouldn't treat Jane like a charity case, as he certainly didn't see himself as one, but sometimes, she just couldn't help it. Her fondness for him overrode her sense of logic. Even if he didn't want her help, she was going to give it to him through hell and high water.

They'd been through way too much together for her not to do that.

And yet, at times, it seemed like they were just as distant as ever. Jane never seemed to get over his incessant desire to push people away. Not because he didn't like company or attention, but simply because he was so scared about getting attached again. Lisbon was certain that generally, Jane was a social butterfly, he craved attention, but he just couldn't allow himself to get too close to people.

Everybody that happened to, he ended up losing, one way or another. And more often than not, it was through dire consequences (more commonly known as the serial killer, Red John.)

Still, he sometimes tried to put the effort into spending time with her. When he thought she needed it and such. And she appreciated it so. In fact, she clung onto any shred of care and attention he gave her, as if it were her lifeblood. Which, in a way, it was. It showed her that he appreciated the energy she put into him, that he was still capable of caring. Of acting like a human being, rather than simply existing to carry out a twisted quest for revenge.

But it wasn't healthy for her. She'd never allowed herself to get so attached to men in the past, as it never ended happily.

Even her father, the man she was meant to be able to trust the most, had let her down quite spectacularly. In fact, if anything, that was most likely where her trust issues stemmed from. Not only had he neglected his duty of care, but he had actively made her and her brother's lives a misery. It was no wonder that she had had a screwed up vision of life since then.

And it was no wonder that, every so often, there were cases that just got to her as a result. That they didn't even need a specific trigger to start her off in one way or another.

"What about the truth?" she queried.

"It_ will _be closed soon. Within forty-eight hours, I believe."

"Another hunch?"

"Yes," he answered honestly.

"And can you tell me why you believe that?"

"Ah, now that would be a hunch too far."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really."

Though she had been resisting temptation for a while, Lisbon yawned. Then again, despite the fact she quite obviously couldn't sleep, she had been feeling awfully tired for a long while.

"You're tired."

"No kidding," she answered, the sarcasm dripping out automatically.

"I'll let you get some rest."

She nodded, but still took a couple of steps and accompanied him to the door. He stepped outside but turned to face her, frowning a little. When he cupped her face in his hands, Lisbon was stunned to silence. Though he was a naturally tactile person, Jane never really touched anybody in such an intimate place. She could almost feel the panic rising inside of her. This was all kinds of wrong; they weren't ready, he wasn't ready. He was still mourning for his dead family, and she…

She…

It was almost a relief and at the same time, unbearable torture, when he brushed his lips softly against her forehead. An almost paternal gesture, and a very protective and caring one at that. It was almost unheard of for Jane and yet, she couldn't help but wonder if it meant that he was about to pull away from her again.

If it was an apology, of sorts, before he did so.

If, when, he did, she knew it was going to hurt like hell. It always did.

"Thanks for the company," he murmured and took a couple of steps back. "Get some rest."

Lisbon nodded. "Thank _you_ for the tea."

When she'd closed the door firmly shut, Lisbon headed straight to the bed and collapsed on top of it.

Now she knew why the case was bothering her. It was blindingly obvious. The widower was practically Jane, just before his breakdown. Toeing the fine line between sanity and not. He'd sworn to exact revenge on the person responsible for his wife's death. And despite Jane's insistence (still) to carry it out, Lisbon knew that it was never the answer. It just led to people running around in circles.

And it hurt those closest to the individual the most.

For they were the ones always scrabbling to put the pieces back together. They were the ones always running one step behind, trying to stop them from doing something stupid. They were the ones who were going to land up getting their hearts broken, because they cannot help but let themselves get too close, despite getting pushed away.

She was one of them.

And would be, until the day when Jane either succeeded (for real, this time) or realized the foolishness of it all.

Even then, she knew that whichever happened, it most likely didn't have a happy ending written in it for her.


	20. Paranoid

**A/N: **...there were a lot of mistakes when I re-read this one this morning. Fail, self. Oh well, I guess this is what I get for writing so much in such a short space of time?

Thank you to: Brown Eyes Parker, anthropologist, Aeidhryn, SharpestSatire, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, Frogster and April for reviewing I Know Him So Well.

And now for something a little different...

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** One Eye Open  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** R  
**Characters:** Lisbon/Red John, Jane  
**Summary:** Once you're in it, you're in it for life.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for autumnftw/watchyouwalk as a part of the Holiday Fics challenge.

**One Eye Open**

_Pretty little thing stopped me in my tracks  
But now she sleeps with one eye open_  
- Girl With One Eye, Florence and the Machine

She hates it when he looks like this. That oh so superior, smug, grin which just says 'I was right'. If it wasn't for the possibility of claims of harassment or the like, then maybe, just maybe, she would actually slap it off of him.

The thing is, this time, he isn't right. He thinks he is, because he's _Jane_ and he always is, but he isn't. She knows who Red John is, because she has inside information. How else would so many moles survive within the CBI without her to protect them?

She's the one who pulls the strings for them, makes sure that everything goes just _so_. That is, until they run out of usefulness for his lord and master, Red John. Or they threaten to break any of the rules, any of the commandments. Threaten to reveal his identity or attempt to quit.

Once you're in it, you're in it for life.

Teresa Lisbon seems to be the only one who actually understands that.

She's sold her soul to the devil himself and quite frankly, she doesn't ever want it back.

While her job had its perks before he crept into her life, it was missing something. Now, now she feels a sense of power and control that she never had before. She's the one pulling the strings now, making things actually work for a change. For once, in her sorry life, the universe actually makes sense.

All because of Red John.

Not many people understand the power that he has over people. The power that he gives them, if he's so intrigued by them.

He changes their lives, and for the better. That much is obvious.

And that's why she does what she does for him.

She and Jane, they're on their way to another case right now.

He is agitated. Already, she's quietly informed him that it's a Red John. And already, he's getting wound up by the concept, is on edge.

It's a thrill to watch him, of all people, so nervous.

He understands Red John's power, but doesn't appreciate them. Red John has changed him, and for the better, but Jane is just so bitter and angry about the cost it entailed, that he's blinded to the fact. If he could just step out into the sunlight, then maybe, just maybe, he'd appreciate the difference in him and his demeanor by now.

Maybe then, he'd understand just how _wonderful_ that Red John truly is.

She knows just how unsure he is about this lead. Just how much it worries him. She watches him out of the corner of her eye as he glances at of the window every five seconds, then back at her, then at his hands. Then, he repeats the action. Windows. Herself. Hands. Windows…

He's terrified and excited in equal measures. Almost paranoid about what this will mean, in a way. Jane thinks this is going to be the time they finally catch Red John.

He's wrong, however. Lisbon knows that already.

This specific lead is one that she, of all people, planted and he's fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

Just as she expected he would. After all, contrary to what Patrick Jane believes, he's not the only one who knows a thing or two about reading minds and manipulation.

She's learned a fair bit herself. And though Jane would like to believe it, not at all from him.

She doesn't even feel guilty about leading him up the garden path. Lisbon knows she should, but she just can't. If he knew Red John, then he'd understand, really understand just how seductive he was.

xxx

She remembers when she first met the serial killer.

How could she forget? It's been etched into her memories from their first meeting. It'll stay in her mind until her dying day, whenever that may be.

She'd just transferred from the SFPD to the CBI. An achievement which she had been incredibly proud of, especially given just how sexist that police work could be. And still is, in more ways than she likes.

How naïve she had been to believe her career was really that important. It's nothing. Just a small drop in the ocean, indistinguishable from the next drop of water. As a mere cop, there's very little she can do to manipulate the world, her environment, for the better.

As a friend of Red John's…

But that's beside the point.

It had been her first day. She'd been buying a bear claw, as a treat for herself at lunch. Just a little sweet something to stash in her drawers for later on. What she'd got was so much more than that.

She'd bumped into one of her new colleagues; she didn't even know his name yet. He just wore a friendly smile beneath his beard. He'd offered to pay and though surprised, she'd accepted gratefully.

How was she to know that her colleague also happened to be a serial killer?

That was – and still is - the beauty of his position. Nobody expects a cop to be a criminal. Least of all one in a specialist agency such as the CBI. They especially don't expect them to employ and corrupt from the inside, but they do.

She understands that all too well.

He'd started slowly, carefully. So as not to scare her off, to make her _report_ him to their superiors. Just the casual comment, the occasional compliment here and there. People rarely praised one another for their work so it made her feel like a job well done. He'd explained just how special he'd thought she was even from that very first meeting. Made her feel like she was one in a million. Slowly, slowly, he brought her into his circle of trust.

So slowly, in fact, that she'd hardly been aware of what was going on.

And when she had finally clued up to the fact of who he was and what he was doing, it was too late. There was nothing she could have done.

He'd got her hooked and lured her in.

Now, several years after the fact, she wouldn't have it any other way.

Why would she? This is the life she knows and understands now. There's nothing else she wants or needs. And if something does transpire, then she has the means to get whatever it is that's required.

She's not trapped in a meaningless bubble where work is the only thing of any importance to her now. As a result, she even has a better relationship with two of her three brothers now.

He's left now; joined the FBI, is currently infiltrating that agency. But she, she's stayed behind, to keep an eye close to the ground at the CBI.

And she does so faithfully.

She's never been able to resist a man with a friendly smile.

xxx

Sometimes, she wonders how she coped not knowing him.

Her past is as dark and dreary as anyone's. Her present had been dull and grey. But Red John, he'd brought a light into it, a shining beacon of hope. How can she ever feel guilty for that?

And he's taught her in so many ways. More than anybody would ever care to imagine.

They've worked together, to solve cases in the past. Brought down the dirtiest of criminals (excepting maybe, themselves, of course.) Been heavily praised for it, too. That's an irony that isn't lost on either of them.

In between cases, they've taught some of the nastiest people in the world lessons, the hard way. There's nothing like the loss of a loved one to make people realize just how much wrong they're doing in their lives. Often, that's even more rewarding than the police work. After all, a cold, hard truth can make people completely reassess their lives for the better.

She doesn't see what they do as evil and abhorrent. Not anymore. They're just like a guiding conscience, giving people a push in the right direction. It just so happens that you need to use something negative, like death, to give certain people that kind of a push.

And then, of course, there's their personal relationship.

Half the reason he decided to start infiltrating the FBI was because of the spanner that the CBI had thrown into their relationships. Who the hell thought that a 'no dating of co-workers' rule was a good idea, at any rate?

Nobody knows that Teresa Lisbon is in a committed relationship, least of all Patrick Jane. She's a fiercely private individual and she_ knows_ Jane. Understands how he works. Knows how to keep things concealed, how to make him believe he knows her inside out, when really, he's completely and utterly oblivious.

Their relationship, as far as she's concerned, is strong and healthy. They know how to push one another's buttons and have done so for years. Literally. Every time they think it might be getting a little dull, somewhat stale, they find a way to change it up.

And it's liberating, too.

While driving, with just Patrick Jane by her side, her mind wanders. She remembers how the man she loves clings onto her just when he's getting near the edge. The way the sweat beads on his brow. How he cries her name when he tumbles over to the point of no return and disappears into sweet ecstasy. And then, then, he always makes sure he gives her back what she deserves.

Theirs is a relationship of equality. It may not have always been that way, but it is now.

Unlike hers with Patrick Jane, of course.

He may think he has the upper hand in their battle of wills, but he never has done.

And he's about to learn how woefully naïve he was ever to believe that.

Any minute now, they'll be arriving at the supposed crime scene.

Any minute now and his life is going to be turned completely upside down, once more.

xxx

The last time they were together…

Oh, the last time…

It wasn't long ago, just a couple of days in fact. They're two very busy people, being pulled in all sorts of directions. Living lives with such duality is taxing on people, so sometimes, it's a miracle that they can find the time for one another at all.

But still, they cling to one another, like they're life rafts. Or a limpet, clinging desperately to a rock. Ensuring that they maintain purchase on a slippery ground. It's the same whenever they get to snatch a precious few seconds together.

Even a serial killer and his accomplice need a little human comfort every once in a while. And they've always complimented one another so, in all aspects of their lives.

Red John had gripped onto her waist tightly that, as if he needed her small form to keep him alive. To make sure he continued breathing.

Which, in a way, he did, because she is the one in control of his case with the CBI. She's the one who deflects the leads, prevents his capture (or demise at the hands of the lunatic Jane.)

She's the one who is currently manipulating Jane towards his own death.

At her own hands.

Just as Red John himself had suggested.

For they both know just how much Patrick Jane trusts her. She's never trusted him, and for good reason. Even if she wasn't as close as she is to Red John, she still wouldn't trust Jane. He positively screams untrustworthy, just from a single glance at him.

It's only seconds now, before she draws her gun, just as they planned. Only seconds before Patrick Jane learns that the Kingdom of God is a real place. That he's going there to be condemned and judged.

That he shan't be joining his wife and child, because of the way he's behaved during his time on planet Earth.

She's carrying out the instructions she received that night word for word. Right down to the letter. In seconds, she's going to deliver those last few words.

The ones Red John had whispered into her ear that night.

She smiles. It's a look of serenity as she remembers just how perfect that night had been.

Even though they had been, somewhat irritatingly, disturbed.

After he'd finished outlining the plan (Jane's death) in its beautiful brilliance, he had slipped away into the shadows. Not because he'd wanted to, but because he'd been called into action. According to the deputy AG, a murder by the docks required his immediate attention.

She'd been a little sad, of course she had.

But even in bed, alone, lying next to the cooling sheets he'd just vacated, she feels comforted.

For he painted his motif on her wall, so that he can always be watching her, always be with her.

Just as he's with her right now. As she bids farewell to that perpetual thorn in her side, more commonly known as Patrick Jane.

After the deed is done, she cleans up, removes all evidence of herself ever being there. Heads directly home, washes and straight back to bed.

It's only then she feels truly at peace once more.

For so long as she sleeps with just the one eye open, she's never alone.


	21. Sick

**A/N: **So, not only am I back to *proper* Jane/Lisbon, but something which may almost constitute as fluff? Well, stranger things have happened. Also, saw An Inspector Calls last night. Brilliant play, see it if you can.

Thank you to: LizfromItaly, Aeidhryn, Iloveplotbunnies, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, Frogster and anthropologist for reviewing _One Eye Open_.

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Fear of Bugs  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** Jane has to get over a fear or two, if he wants to help Lisbon...  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for chizuru_chibi/Chiisana Minako as a part of the holiday fics challenge. Also rather cliched, but I honestly couldn't resist. Sorry.

**Fear of Bugs**

"You're sick."

"No I'm not, m'fine," Lisbon mumbled.

Van Pelt shook her head and closed the gap between them. Jane watched as she placed a gentle hand to Lisbon's forehead, surprised that the senior agent hadn't batted it away or told her to stop being so ridiculous. It was then that he realized that Lisbon was being quiet for a reason. That it wasn't just a headache, or migraine and she was being a martyr to her cause. Well, she was still being a martyr, but for reasons not relating to head pain.

Instead, it was looking more and more likely that it was a bug of some kind. Intrigued, Jane stared at Lisbon, but took a step backwards at the same time. She did look a little off-color and the bags under her eyes were particularly pronounced. And the fact that she wasn't bothering to fight Van Pelt suggested that she was completely drained of energy.

"You're burning up, boss," Van Pelt said to her quietly, the concern evident in her eyes. "You should really go home."

"I'm _fine_, Van Pelt," Lisbon persisted.

"But…"

"Fine," she reiterated, as if they hadn't heard her the first seventeen times. "Just… go get on with your work, will you?"

"Yes, boss."

Van Pelt scurried away meekly and Jane took the opportunity to follow her. For once, he was at a loss as to what to do. Technically, he knew that people required rest and fluids to fight sickness bugs, but that didn't mean he necessarily had to be the one to administer them. When Charlotte had been small and caught whatever illnesses going, Angela had been the one to treat her. It was partially because Jane was working, keeping the roof over their heads and spoiling them silly, but mostly because he loathed the idea of being sick himself.

Jane was never sick because Jane never went near sick people.

If there was something going around, an illness that could be caught, he avoided infected people at all costs. It wasn't that he was scared of being sick; he just didn't like the idea of what it entailed. The vomiting, the high temperatures, the enforced bed rest. Being incapacitated and feeling like he wasn't running on all cylinders. He liked having his skills and knowing he could rely on them at all times.

And he couldn't do that if he was ill.

After refilling his teacup in the kitchenette, Jane returned to the bullpen, where the others had congregated. They all looked equally concerned, which was a testament to how the team had bonded over the years. He smiled slightly as he approached them, but they all looked dour. It didn't matter that it probably wasn't anything life threatening (or so he hoped; he couldn't cope with losing yet another person so close to him), but they all knew she was overdoing it. That if she just took a couple of days off work, she would recover far more quickly, and lessen the risk of a minor epidemic sweeping through the CBI.

"You should talk to her," Van Pelt said, practically demanding that he did.

"Me? Why?"

"She'll listen to you," Cho said, as bluntly as ever.

"If she wouldn't listen to Van Pelt, what makes you think she'll listen to me?"

"She always does."

"She trusts you," Van Pelt added encouragingly.

"…though she doesn't believe she should," Rigsby finished for her.

Jane frowned as he placed his teacup down. He'd never played nursemaid to somebody before and he didn't really like the idea of starting now. Besides, unlike the rest of the team, he wasn't so convinced that Lisbon would listen to him. She was stubborn and when she got an idea stuck in her head, it was often hard to sway her. But at the same time, they were right. It was ridiculous that she'd even considered coming into work this morning, never mind turning up early and putting in a full two hours before anybody else showed up. Lisbon spent most of her life running herself into the ground and if she didn't take a step back now, it could, theoretically, get much worse.

But the sickness bug…

He imagined himself pale and sweating, crouched over a toilet, vomiting, and shuddered. But then, he imagined Lisbon knelt beside him, rubbing his back soothingly and telling him that it would be okay. She must have done that kind of thing hundreds of times in her childhood. Being the surrogate mom and dad for her younger brothers had really shaped the adult she'd become, and unsurprisingly so. Her mother hen tendencies were something that Jane doubted she'd ever have the capability of shaking off; they were so ingrained into her.

The only problem was who was there to play that role to her.

Slowly, he looked at each and every one of his colleagues. The pleading was especially evident in Van Pelt's eyes. She was especially fond of Lisbon and the pair had grown particularly close, once the elder of the two had finally let her barriers down. It was clearly breaking Van Pelt's heart to see Lisbon doing so much damage to herself, with little thought to what the repercussion could be.

With a dejected sigh, he gave up.

She'd risked her life so many times for him, so it was only fair he risked catching a teeny, tiny sickness bug for her.

xxx

"You look ridiculous," she stated plainly.

Jane adjusted his face mask with his free hand. It made it a little hard to breathe, but it lessened the risk and that was the main thing. The same applied to the latex gloves. As far as he was concerned, it was just the same as her wearing a Kevlar vest whenever she went bounding into a situation where guns were a potential hazard. He had to take the necessary precautions. Something could still happen, but at least he was doing everything he possibly could to prevent it.

Carefully, he closed the gap between himself and her bed. Jane had been pleasantly surprised when the team had been right, that he had managed to persuade her to go home. He knew that half the reason she acquiesced was only because they didn't have any open cases and really, she knew the team could manage without her. The dizzy spell when she'd stood up to shoo him out of her office had been the clincher. If he hadn't been there to catch her, then she would have collapsed in a rather unceremonious heap on the floor. Probably.

She eyed him critically, but Jane didn't care. He knew that she had expected him to disappear almost as soon as she'd climbed into bed, but he wanted to make sure that she stayed put. And ate and got enough fluids. _And_ that she didn't try and sneak out some folders to work on instead of actually sleeping. While she'd been resting, he'd looked up the basics on caring for people with minor ailments and been determined to do everything he could. While he may not have been as natural, or as efficient as someone like Van Pelt might have been, he knew that he could at least hope to cheer her up a bit.

"Is the apron entirely necessary?"

He ignored her question. Of course it was necessary. It had protected his precious three piece suit while he'd been cooking and provided yet another barrier between himself and those nasty bugs. He smiled, though she couldn't see it under the mask. At least she was beginning to sound a bit brighter post-nap.

"Chicken soup. It's good for the soul."

Lisbon scowled. "I hate chicken soup."

"You're exaggerating. I've seen you eating it at work before."

"Only when there's nothing else available."

"Eat," he demanded, ignoring her complaints.

She rolled her eyes, but obeyed anyway. Jane grinned. The power balance had shifted a little in his favor.

xxx

Just over a week later, when Lisbon was feeling right as rain, Jane felt peculiar. Within a couple of hours, his symptoms had not only persisted, but worsened. Van Pelt, as diligent as ever, had been the first to notice just how pale he'd looked, while trying to sleep on his couch. Just as Lisbon had refused her help, Jane did too. He knew exactly whose fault this was and she _owed_ him. Besides, he had a feeling that she would want to help him too, anyway.

Merely seconds after Van Pelt had informed her, Lisbon was by his side. Naturally, her maternal instincts kicked in. Just as he expected, she took him home, tucked him up in her bed (better than that crappy motel one and besides, you've already been in my bedroom, she'd insisted) and was generally taking care of him. Like the pro she was.

As he snuggled into the blankets, he smiled slightly, despite feeling like the world was spinning and like he could be sick at any given moment. It seemed that being ill had its perks, after all.


	22. Resigned

**A/N:** Not happy in the slightest with this one. And I'm pretty much ready for bed at 9.30pm. Yay.

Thank you to: Wldwmn, Brown Eyes Parker, anthropologist and Frogster for reviewing _Fear of Bugs_

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Badge of Honor  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** Give Jane an inch, he takes a mile. And Lisbon finds herself _liking_ that.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes: **Tough prompt was tough. Written for frogster as a part of the holiday fics challenge.

**Badge of Honor**

To do something once was a mistake.

Twice, carelessness.

Three times?

Lisbon shook her head. It was terribly unlike her to be so careless, never mind anything more than that. But that was what she had been doing – had become – of late.

It had started slowly, as these things always did.

She'd started going a little easier on him. Jane, that was. Of course, her boss had noticed and told her not to, but it was easier said than done. Then again, it was always so easy to stand on the sidelines, to point out faults and criticize. Until you had actually walked a mile in somebody's shoes and knew what they had to endure, then it was so simple to take the holier than thou stance.

But of course, she didn't blame him for being like that. It was his job to comment on her performance. He had to make sure that the CBI was excelling in all aspects of their remit and ensure they maintained the image they required in the general public. Distrust and animosity towards cops wasn't uncommon, unfortunately, and if they were seen to be doing their job badly, well, it would be all the worse for them.

Nobody liked it when cops appeared to be crooked.

Still, that didn't change the simple fact that she had been letting Jane get away with things. If you gave him an inch, he'd run a mile. So, that was exactly what he'd done.

And the more he did it, the more out of control he grew.

At first, she'd tried desperately to rein him back in, to get him back in line, but that proved an impossible task. Jane was used to the freedom she'd once given him and thus, the damage had already been done. Realistically, there was little point in her even trying to repair the irreparable, but that didn't stop her from trying. She'd always had to try, it was an innate instinct buried deep within her. A personality trait which she seemed physically incapable of ignoring.

Though, in saying that, somewhere along the line, she had just given up.

Lisbon had spent sleepless nights trying desperately to work out how and why she had allowed herself to let Jane become some reckless. Part of her thought it was because he'd saved her life. That in itself was something profound, almost wrong. She was meant to be the one who did the (physical) heroics, while Jane relied upon his wit and sharp tongue. He wasn't meant to know how to handle a gun, never mind shoot and kill.

Of course she was grateful that his instinct had cut in – that he'd saved her – who wouldn't have been? The truth was it cut in far deeper than that.

She liked having him close and then, there were the psychological repercussions. She knew that it was just him automatically saving the life of somebody he cared about, but really, she couldn't help but wonder if there was more to it than that. If it was some kind of display of affection.

If it was him making a calculated choice between what he wanted more: her or Red John.

It was only human, natural, to have those thoughts. And it was only natural that she would try and repay him in her own way. The easiest way for her to do that had been quite simply to let him get away with more. To show that she was at least trying to trust him, even if she couldn't bring herself to do it entirely.

For Jane was a loose cannon. Like her desperate need to try and 'fix' people, it was an innate part of him, something which he wouldn't be capable of getting rid of.

Truth be told, she liked that about him. He could take risks that she could never dream of carrying out, without a second thought, and not just because of the lack of risk assessment. Though she wasn't exactly shy or nervous (she couldn't be in her job), she didn't have the confidence to be quite as reckless as he was. However, sometimes, it seemed like he barely wanted to live, that he wanted to throw his life away.

Jane certainly made life all the more interesting for her.

He made it ever so slightly more dangerous as well. Jane pushed her into situations she had never dreamed of finding herself. Yes, he had made her a better cop, even if her superiors didn't quite see it that way.

But most importantly, he made sure she was living life, rather than just existing and going through the motions.

However, all this was just explanations, pitiful excuses for why she had let him get away with such uncontrollable behavior. She should have done something about it so long ago, after he'd shot Dumar Hardy. Lisbon knew she shouldn't have left it until it was too late to do anything about it. Before he had the chance to shoot and kill another person.

But he'd done just that. Twice more.

First time was because she'd been foolish enough to let Cho and Rigsby watch Jane in the damn mall. If she'd been there, she would have reacted differently. She'd have known that there was no chance of getting to Hightower's hideout before Van Pelt and O'Laughlin had arrived. That a telephone call was so much quicker. She'd have been able to carry out damage limitation, to stop him as she had always said she would.

But would she have stopped him? She had always known just how much Red John had meant to him. Would she have been able to let him get away with it, to turn a blind eye?

Everyone had been convinced that Timothy Carter was Red John (it was how Jane had gotten away murder – literally) until Jane had confided in her, told her otherwise. And even then, she had kept it a hushed silence, partially out of respect for him and fear of the repercussions. Mostly because he had asked, begged, her not to tell another soul.

One of the few things that had tempered her anger was the fact that Carter had indeed been a guilty man. It may have not been of many murders, of terrorizing the state, but it still took another monster off the street. That was their job. Jane had just done it in a more brutal manner than usual.

Since the Carter incident, because he'd been running scared, she had stuck even closer to him. Allowed their ties to grow even closer. Lisbon hadn't even minded; unlike many people, she enjoyed his company. He may have infuriated her, but he also made her laugh, made her smile, made her feel like a _woman_. Sometimes, the badge and the gun (and her demeanor, admittedly) made people forgot that small detail.

She'd been present when he had killed yet another man.

Half-heartedly, she'd tried to stop him. But mostly, she'd watched as he sliced another man to his death and then muttered a few choice phrases about how he shouldn't have done it. How the man should have been.

Just before, Lisbon had asked him if it was Red John.

Jane had said it was.

She'd asked if he was certain this time.

He'd replied with 'yes'.

He'd even provided her with concrete, undeniable evidence.

That was enough for her.

It stopped her from rushing, made her linger in the back rooms with her gun trained, looking for nothing but ghosts. She had actively given Jane the time to administer those first few fatal cuts, before she had bothered to catch him in the act, as such.

The evidence was also good enough to get Jane off the hook for murder (again) but not good enough for Lisbon. For some reason, everybody seemed to know that the demise of Red John could have happened so differently. That the only reason she hadn't stopped Jane (and hadn't even arrested him; the SFPD had done that) was because she couldn't.

Because her judgment had been clouded, her attitude had changed.

Because somewhere along the line, she had fallen in love with him.

And as a consequence, he had corrupted her. She'd _allowed_ it to happen. Turned a good cop into a mediocre one. She'd become too reliant on him, had let him get away with things that nobody should have been able to get away with. Had essentially allowed him to do her job for her.

Besides, a relationship (not that they were in one, not now, not yet, maybe not ever) simply wasn't allowed between two co-workers in the CBI. It wasn't accepted with the underlings and if a senior agent was seen having a dalliance with a co-worker, well…

That just showed how far they had fallen off of the straight and narrow.

When Bertram arrived, she handed over her badge wordlessly. There was no point in fighting against the inevitable. She didn't have the energy to argue over her job. It wasn't as if she couldn't get another. There was always a dearth of semi-decent sheriffs in backwater towns. Good, honest men, looking for leadership. One of them would welcome her with open arms sooner or later, especially given the fact she had worked for the supposed premier crime-fighting agency in California for a long stint of time.

Besides, three times was a step too far. She'd been lucky, last time. It was only natural that her luck would run out sooner or later. It wasn't as if everything she touched turned into gold…

And once upon a time, she had been proud of being a cop, an agent of the CBI, of wearing that badge. The honor and responsibility it entailed, the meaning behind it. Now? She wasn't so sure. The CBI had certainly lost a lot of the luster it had once had, before she had gained employment there. It almost seemed corrupt, in a way. Then again, with the number of informants for Red John that had managed to infiltrate over the years, it was hardly surprising she felt like that.

Besides, given the option between having a job defining her life and a man she deeply cared about, she knew which one she'd choose. A few years ago, that decision would have been agonizing for her.

Now, it only took a split second.

_Take my badge but my heart remains  
Loving you..._  
_Tighten Up -_ The Black Keys.


	23. Relieved

**A/N:** Yay, guess who has a migraine again? /sarcasm. Ugh, I wish I could have some time off work cause this sucks.

Thank you to: SteeleSimz, Wldwmn, TheLifeILive, Brown Eyes Parker and TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme for reviewing _Badge of Honor_

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** All I Ask of You  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** Finding out where they stand, after Red John (besides on the CBI rooftop, of course.)  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for browneyesparker as a part of the Holiday Fics challenge. Day late because I was really unwell and busy yesterday.

**All I Ask of You**

"What are you doing up here?"

He'd barely noticed her arrive. Jane turned to look at her, with a wry smile on his face. Returning it, Lisbon closed the gap between them and returned his smile. Without another word, she quietly sat down beside him and stared out across the city.

The CBI building wasn't that high up, considering, but the view was still half-decent. Even more so considering that the sun was just beginning to set and the light was catching off various buildings quite beautifully. It was that that made her realize why he had chosen to come right to the rooftop, rather than staying in his dingy attic room. There was something peaceful, quiet, and reflective about it. It was certainly a little more optimistic too, but that wasn't exactly difficult.

And optimism was something could all have done with right now.

A hell of a lot had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

For one, the serial killer more commonly known as Red John had been killed. Shot by a (now) rather shell-shocked Van Pelt, but not before the man had nearly culled two of her own agents. Rigsby and Cho were hospitalized, critical, but stable. In theory, she knew that both men should make a full recovery, but reality sometimes had different ideas up its sleeves. Instead, she was trying to remain quietly optimistic about their chances, to hope for the best but be aware that either (or both) of them could have a turn for the worst.

That was where Van Pelt was now. She'd headed to the hospital along with Rigsby, clutching hold of his hand tightly as she did so. All she could hope was that Van Pelt wouldn't receive any more bad news while she was there; that was the last thing the red head needed. More than anyone on the team (excepting Jane, naturally), she had been scarred by Red John. She almost deserved to have been the one to kill the monster, as a result.

And Lisbon couldn't help but be quietly pleased that it wasn't Jane who had been the one to pull the trigger. He'd cut it too close once before.

"Hey," she said, nudging him gently with her shoulder.

"Hey."

"Rigsby's out of surgery and Cho's regained consciousness."

"Good, that's good."

Lisbon nodded in response. Jane was right; it was a good sign, if nothing else. But still, she couldn't help thinking about Bosco. He'd had complications days after being shot, ones that had cost him his life. What if the same happened to Cho or Rigsby?

She shook her head. It wasn't going to happen. They'd be fine; those two were made of stronger stuff than that. She'd recovered after a shooting before, as had several other agents in the CBI. And besides, they both had things to fight for. Reasons to live.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

It was a stupid question, but she couldn't help but say it. Somebody had to ask him, anyway. Besides, she was scared. He was distancing himself, pulling away from her. Once, he'd said that when the Red John case was done and dusted, then his association with the CBI would be over. But did it have to be? Really? Why did it have to mean the end? They liked him and she assumed that the feeling was entirely mutual. He'd always seemed to get along with the team, anyway.

And he'd always given her special care and attention, too.

He'd stormed into her life, made a trailblazing mess and completely turned it upside down. Was he going to leave it just as swiftly, leaving a gaping hole in his wake?

Eventually, she stood. There was little point in just sitting there, in silence, just wondering what the hell he was thinking. She'd spent years trying to figure him out, trying to learn to read him. Whenever she thought she was getting just that little bit closer to understanding what was going on in his mind, something had changed and pulled him away from her.

She was getting more than a little sick of it. Jane knew where to find her, knew how to contact her. If he changed his mind and wanted to talk, then it wasn't going to be difficult for him. All he needed to do was _ask_.

"I'll just…"

Jane grabbed her by the wrist and the sentence died on Lisbon's lips. She spun around to face him once more. Without another word, he placed his hands on her cheek and firmly pressed his lips against her own. Lisbon was momentarily stunned; where the hell had that come from, what on _earth_ did he think he was doing? This was unprofessional, wrong. They were co-workers, friends. She had never thought for an instant that he had any interest in her other than the light companionship they already shared. Even if he did, then he wasn't ready for anything more. And even then, his guilt would stop him from even considering being with a woman who wasn't his wife…

Once she had come to her senses, she pulled away from him, irate. Lifting the hand he'd grabbed her by, she slapped him firmly across the cheek. Realistically, he deserved at least that for all the grief he had put her through over the years. Then she took hold of his face and pulled him down so that his lips met hers once more. His teeth nipped her bottom lip urgently, his tongue damp and desperate to gain access to her mouth. Allowing her eyes to finally flutter shut, her lips parted and she allowed him to deepen the kiss. It felt like she had waited years for this (and yet, she had hardly realized she had been at all) and she was going to make it worth her while.

Eventually, all good things had to come to an end. Oxygen deprivation was generally best avoided, especially when standing atop a tallish building. When they parted, Jane stroked her cheek gently with the pad of his thumb and smiled wistfully.

Where was this going to take them? Where did she want it to take them?

Lisbon wasn't the kind of person to go around randomly kissing her coworkers, least of all her consultant, whom she insisted she barely tolerated, never mind liked to anybody who was listening. So, in recent years, it had turned into a bare-faced lie, but that didn't mean she didn't like to hide behind it as a protective mask. The more people heard about what she disliked about Jane, the more they'd believe that a relationship between them (and any inappropriate thoughts she may have had about him) were implausible. Besides, she was so used to denial that it was almost second nature.

Except now, it wasn't. He'd kissed her and she'd kissed him. It suggested that whatever the hell it was that was going on between them was entirely mutual. She ignored the feeling of her heart thumping a military tattoo against her ribcage as she stared at him, trying to figure him out. Lisbon didn't need to ask to know how he realized that she may have had feelings for him. He was Jane; he just knew these things. He could read her like an open book, or so he said. Sometimes, anyway.

"Well?" she asked, almost demanding an answer.

"Well," he echoed.

Lisbon fought against the instinct to slap him once again. Though she sometimes quite enjoyed abusing him, (he _deserved _it, she repeated stubbornly to herself) there was a beauty in moderation.

Besides, right now felt like the wrong moment to do it anyway. And she still hadn't had an answer.

"Where do we go from here?"

Lisbon didn't even need to think to know Jane was already aware that she was thinking that. He just wanted her to vocalize the question, to make the situation all the more real than it already was. She shivered slightly and not just because of the cool breeze cutting through her thin work shirt. Jane smiled and it was one of those rare occasions when it actually reached the corners of his eyes. It was one where he actually meant it, rather than was just wearing that mask to protect himself from the unwanted questions of strangers (and people he already knew).

However, he didn't answer, much to her annoyance. Instead, he slipped his hand in her own and led her back to the staircase.

"Not now," he whispered quietly into her ear. "Let's just see where this takes us, shall we?"

"Don't hurt me," she replied, almost cringing as she did so. That wasn't the kind of thought she would usually end up having.

Then again, she had been doing a lot of things that she wouldn't normally consider doing in the past ten minutes or so. What harm did saying something like that do?

"So long as you don't hurt me either," he challenged.


	24. Confident

**A/N: **Please can this week stop getting even worse than it already was? Thank you.

And thank you to: Wldwmn, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, LAurore, April, xxxBekaForEvaxxx, Aeidhryn and Brown Eyes Parker for reviewing _All I Ask Of You_.

And the problem with this Holiday Fics things? Continual crises of confidence... ugh.

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** There Will Be Light  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating: **T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** For the most part, she shields herself from heartache and pain.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for Divinia Serit as a part of the Holiday Fics challenge.

**There Will Be Light**

Everywhere she looks, everywhere she goes, she can see the pain.

Shock that a co-worker won't be coming into work in the morning. The horror that a friend suffers when they realize there's no more late night chats to be enjoyed. The incomprehension on a child's face when daddy says that mommy isn't coming home. The heartache from losing a loved one, whether they are friend or family, to something as completely senseless as murder.

She loves and hates her job in that respect. Who likes being constantly reminded of the worst aspects of life? It's something that Lisbon has learned over the years to merely tolerate, to push down and cast to one side, simply so that she can continue to at least resemble a sane human being. But she likes giving people, strangers essentially, answers. Hope. A reason to believe that good will out, despite all the suffering that life entails. That it's worth it to carry on, knowing that wrong-doers will get their comeuppance every once in a while.

There's nothing she hates more than a murderer slipping through her fingers. That means another family goes without the answers they crave. Another wife believes her husband has died for nothing. Another father trying to work out where to go once they realized they've outlived their child, a feeling no parent should ever be forced to face.

Sometimes, she thinks it'd be easier to just switch off, to not have feelings. If you love, you're doomed to always getting hurt one way or another. Just because she's consistently reminded of the worst way to lose somebody you care about it, it doesn't mean she's not just as acutely aware of the other ways too. Betrayal, cheating, abandonment, manipulation, simply growing apart over time. It happens daily. As soon as people fall in the love, there's always the inevitable heartache waiting at the other end. It's a fact of life.

For the most part, she shields herself from it. She's faced more than enough heartache and agony without willfully walking into such a situation. Losing her mom and then her dad at such a young age, for a start. Having had to sacrifice her childhood to drag up three boys as stubborn as she is, all of whom have never shown so much as an ounce of gratitude for everything she's done for them. Fighting tooth and nail, absolutely forgetting the concept of a social life and a family of her own, just to get where she is today.

Pushing away men, simply because they're a distraction. Or so she's claimed, whenever anyone has been remotely interested to ask, anyway. In reality, it's because she's so scared of being hurt that she just hasn't wanted to risk putting herself in the situation. Nor has she wanted to risk hurting other people, the way her parents did when she was merely a teenager. If she gets injured – or worse – on the job, then there's nobody to leave behind. No heartbroken significant other cursing the day she decided to become a cop. No kids unable to understand why mom had sacrificed her life for the greater good, whatever the hell that is.

Except, there always has to be an exception to the rule.

And her exception just has to be more flawed and broken than she is, doesn't he?

Every time she sees Patrick Jane, she's reminded of the heartache, the tragedy of his past.

He represents her failures, in a way. He's one of the many people waiting for answers, waiting for closure for cases which seem impossible to be close. She sees him (virtually) every day; he's almost attached to her hip. And sometimes, she just wishes she could push him away like she has so many other men, simply because she doesn't want the reminders. She doesn't want the hurt. Lisbon has her own ways of remembering her flaws; she doesn't need somebody else to bring them up intentionally (or not) at regular intervals.

But equally, he reminds her just how important her job is. Just how necessary it is to capture and apprehend Red John.

Red John seems to affect _everything_. Her team has all been hurt by him one way or another, however subliminally. He's the one they all have sleepless nights about and worry about if they'll be the next target, the next _victim_. The CBI as a whole has been wounded, what with agents already having been killed on their own ground and the fact that he continually eludes them, regardless of what they try to do to stop him. Even civilians appear to worry about him; they seem to _know_, to dread the idea of coming home and seeing that macabre smiley face painted on one of their walls…

But nobody, _nobody_ she knows has been affected quite so much as Patrick Jane.

Jane is so blinded to the concept of an 'after' Red John. Not only does she need to ensure that the serial killer is tried in a court of law, but that Jane can move on and realize that life is still worth living. It's a little hypocritical, she's more than aware of that, but in a twisted way, it's her way of repaying his lesson. He's made her realize that the job isn't the be all and end all of everything. He's taught her that it's okay to let her hair down every once in a while, to just relax. She's learned how to just go with the flow and stop being so uptight all the while.

As a consequence, she's realized she's just as fixated on one thing as the people she's always trying to save.

And that is helping others, despite being so desperate to keep them at arm's length. She doesn't want the hurt, but she wants to make them feel better because she understands it so well.

She still cannot shake that incorrigible urge; it's something she doubts she'll ever be able to do. But at least now, she's living properly instead of simply existing. She has people she can count on as friends rather than just coworkers or acquaintances. There's even someone who she may be falling in love with, though she wouldn't feel comfortable admitting to that just yet.

Mostly because he couldn't be further from being ready for a relationship.

That means she has a job to do. Somebody's got to teach him that there's a light at the end of the tunnel.

Somebody needs to fix the seemingly unfixable.

Who better than herself for that? She has, after all, got years of experience in that field.


	25. Worried

**A/N: **You have no idea how glad I am this week is (virtually) over. So glad to see the back of it, it's been awful. And I still have the same migraine from a week ago.

Anyway. Thank you to: Wldwmn, TheLifeILive, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, Divinia Serit, SteeleSimz, April, Aeidhryn, LizfromItaly, anthropologist and SharpistSatire for reviewing _There Will Be Light._

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Broken and Scarred  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** Jane isn't the only one who needs some time to gather his thoughts. Episode tag to 4x10 Fugue In Red.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for little_firestar/LizfromItaly as a part of the Holiday Fics challenge. The end is in sight!

**Broken and Scarred**

"Why did you do this?"

"Jane, I'm, I'm…"

The words don't come easily, not anymore. The look in his eyes is of deadly murder. He's furious and potentially, justifiably so. She hates it whenever he gets that look of rage on his features. But she straightens her back, pulling her spine up until she's as tall as she can be. Height (or lack thereof) has never been a problem for Lisbon when it comes to asserting her dominance. She has three younger, though significantly taller, brothers to thank for that. Besides, deep down, she knows she's in the right. That Jane needed reminding of everything he's lost, who he really is, and who he was. This man, this creature who has been in her life for the past couple of days isn't Jane. Not the one he once was, tempered by the love he shared with Angela, nor the one she herself is growing increasingly fond of.

"Sorry? Sorry? Is that all you can say?"

"Well what else am I meant to say?" she spits, her anger rising to match his. This is old ground, ancient history. How can she be perpetually sorry for something that happened years ago? Something that she is trying desperately to help him solve? It isn't fair on her, but then again, when is he ever?

He shakes his head and turns back to face the room. Jane's pushing her away again, casting her aside in favor of hiding back in his shell. How much damage has this caused? To him, to _them_? The doctor had told her that she should allow the memories to return of their own accord and instead, she'd chosen to push him in the most brutal manner. But then again, she could tell they were returning. It was only a matter of time. And she couldn't let him leave, not with that woman who was clearly several sandwiches short of a picnic.

(She didn't even notice the slight physical resemblance between Tamara and herself – in more than just name alone – mostly because she never has the ability to think like _that_.)

Tentatively, she reaches out to touch him, to offer him some sort of comfort. Instead, she stops just short. She's aware of just how unwelcome she is here. This house, this shell of a home, is his own private enclave. He uses it to escape from the realities and subsume himself in guilt whenever he believes he isn't suffering enough. Nobody is meant to trespass here; even his attic room, back at the CBI headquarters doesn't offer that kind of privacy to him. Figuratively, she is disturbing the dust, rattling the ghosts, when she should be anywhere but here.

However, this isn't the first time she's been to his home, just the first time she's actively chosen to come here. It's been years, literally, since she last stood at the top of this staircase, as a young agent, recently hired by the CBI, still a little green behind the ears, hoping to rise quickly through the ranks. (Something, which she's very proud to say, that she has succeeded in doing.) After all, working for an investigative unit such as this one is poles apart from anything she did with the San Francisco Police Department, and before that. Yes, she may have managed to come across some relatively big cases, back then, but ever since joining the CBI, her work before has long since been eclipsed.

She had felt like she was invading back then and she feels the same right now. This had been her first big murder scene and she hadn't been sure how to handle. It rankles, more than she cares to admit, to know that Red John is still on the loose, that he still hasn't been stopped, one way or another.

Red John.

They still haven't had that talk, the one they should have shared a month or so ago. The one they desperately needed since Panzer had been found brutally murdered (off MO) by the serial killer. Lisbon had tried to corner him, tried to make him explain how he'd known that Carter wasn't Red John, but Jane had always managed to slip through her fingers, uncannily so. Then again, being Jane, she doesn't find that surprising.

Part of her aches to take advantage of the situation now. The ball is very clearly in her court as he, uncharacteristically silently, stares onwards, now almost oblivious to her presence. Instead, she turns on her heels and heads downstairs. It feels wrong to abuse her position right now.

Besides, this is _Jane_. He's more than her consultant. More than just a friend, even. What he is, she cannot quite be sure. For some reason, it feels far safer just to ignore it than to try and give him something as silly as a label. Knowing him, he'd just find a way to subvert it anyway. That's what he does best.

There's a chill to the air when she steps outside and she shivers slightly. Though she's wearing her work clothes and usually, she finds that's enough, for some reason it just isn't. Quickly, she disregards it and contemplates heading to her car. Instead, she pads her way around to the back of the house. She's not really heading anywhere in particular, but for some reason the sea is luring her in. It doesn't matter that it's nighttime, that's not a reason for her to avoid heading there. Any childish fear of the dark had long since been beaten out of her (quite literally, in some respects).

The ocean is a place she's always associated with change. The water never ceases to move; you cannot step in the same sea or river twice. That should, in a way, feel threatening, but not to Lisbon. Without change, things stagnate and that can lead to disaster.

Something that Jane is heading towards pretty damn fast.

After all, he's running around in circles when it comes to Red John. Whenever they think they've gotten a break, two steps closer or even closed the damn case, a curve ball is thrown, sending them straight back to square one. And each time it happens, Jane changes and stays the same in equal measures. It's like he's adjusting to the fact that he'll never catch Red John, will always be on this never ending quest and will never achieve the closure he so desperately craves. He gets angrier and angrier, sadder and sadder and then what?

She thinks they're getting closer, but is it a real friendship, relationship, connection, whatever? Or is it just his way of keeping grounded with reality or simply staying sane? Is that all she is to him?

With a despondent sigh, she flops into a chair. The padding is moldy, damp, from years of exposure to the elements and no care whatsoever, but it doesn't bother her. Lisbon needs to sit down, to think, to try and work out what the hell is going on. Jane isn't the only one with problems since his near-drowning. It changes things, for all of them. Not just him. Tentatively, she props her elbow up on the table, trying not to think about the ghosts that linger around this place. Jane is doing more than enough of that for the both of them. Resting her head on her hands, she listens at the waves crashing beneath her, tries desperately to absorb herself in the sound.

The nagging sense of guilt still refuses to go away, however. Did she like the Jane that had been thrust upon her by this incident? No, of course she didn't, just as Van Pelt hadn't, either. That had been a Jane that hadn't been tempered by his wife (forgotten, repressed by the incident to prevent his mind from being subsumed by the stress), nor Red John. Hadn't been influenced by her team and molded into being a better man. The man he could be, the man he is, which had only been unlocked once he'd learned the error of his ways. That hadn't been her Jane, nor Angela's, just _a_ version of him, as he could have been.

And she'd known he'd been a nightmare in his past. Heck, sometimes he is barely tolerable now; therefore it is hardly surprising that he had no moral compass whatsoever when he'd been masquerading as a psychic. Especially so when he didn't have the love (and conscience) of somebody else to keep him in check.

She lets out a hollow laugh. Is she really the Jiminy Cricket to his Pinocchio? Jane's certainly mischievous enough to be the little marionette, and evasive too. He is also brutally honest and a nightmare to control. And he's learning too, slowly, slowly, who he is, who he was, who he can be.

That's something he's had to do all over again, over the past few days.

Lisbon cannot help but pity him, and wish that he could just remember so that they could just get on with their lives. Was it cruel of her to use this last ditch attempt to jog his memory, to steal away any potential happiness that he could have if he remained oblivious? A semblance of happiness that he could have had with that woman, Tamara, or was she just as mask too? Would he have just remembered anyway?

After all, the Jane she knows cannot bear not to know anything and his history is a huge thing to remain none-the-wiser about. And anyway, if and when he'd really wanted to, a thirty minute Google search would reveal everything.

And there are worse alternatives. What if Red John struck again, close to home? What if he killed somebody else close to Jane, simply to trigger his memories? (Somebody in this new life he was more than happy to construct, or a member of her team, maybe?) Mental health is a delicate matter and though Lisbon knows full well that he was lucky to recover from his first breakdown, would he manage to do so for a second time?

But surely it's better this way? More tangible, more real? Webpages can make something seem like a fairytale, like it doesn't really matter. Like it's something he can run away from when really, she knows that deep down, running away is the last thing he wants.

But is it? Really? Is she really doing this for his own good, to salvage Jane's (already debatable) sanity or is she just being selfish?

Whenever he's tried to leave in the past, she's fought tooth and nail to keep him on board. Heck, she's even been more understanding (if not entirely accepting) of her own potential leaving than his. Lisbon knows that a cop with her skills can find a job anywhere (even with a track record like her own, no thanks to Jane himself). But him? Where else will he have the resources in order to ensnare Red John? He's got the quicksilver mind, but sometimes, and when it comes to Red John, that alone isn't enough.

All she knows is that if he leaves, she won't know what to do with herself.

He fits her like an old glove, comfortable, reassuring, always there. She _likes_ having him holding her hand, guiding her through whatever case they're currently tackling. She needs to have somebody to look after, to babysit, to try and fix.

Besides, there's nobody else with the sheer patience to be able to do what she does with him. Even the rest of the team have to take it in turns to look after him.

In fact, she's the only person she knows who can tolerate Patrick Jane in more than just very small doses. Only person that's alive, that is. Though she never actually saw Angela and their daughter alive (their corpses were enough), she simply assumes that she had the gift too, after all, she never took the opportunity to leave him, did she?

Everybody else accepts his quest for revenge at face value too, even the rest of the team. There's the old adage of eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, which is a concept everyone understands. They may say the whole world will end up blind, but even the law in California lives by that rule, so who is she to argue?

All she knows is that Jane needs the closure as much as he needs the revenge.

He needs it because without it, it seems physically impossible for him to move on.

And she likes to think that he needs her too. Because he knows that nobody else would show willing and faithfully stick beside him for as long as she has now. She doesn't need a reason to do so (or more truthfully, she hasn't actively looked for it), she just _does_.

That's why she needed to help him find himself again. To save him from himself.

And to make sure she's always there to pick up the pieces whenever he can't. It's all she feels capable of doing, these days.

Footsteps disturb her from her reverie and quickly, Lisbon jerks her head off the table to look. She hadn't particularly noticed, but her thoughts had sent her drifting off into that delicious space between sleep and wakefulness. Sometimes (or often?) her job has its downsides and one of them is the perpetual lack of sleep. There's no rest for the wicked, nor for those who dedicate their lives to catching them.

"Teresa?"

Her heart almost sinks when she hears him use her forename. Has he regressed again? Actively buried the thoughts back down because he doesn't want to dare deal with them?

Wordlessly, she motions to the seat beside her, but she suspects that he doesn't need the offer to sit to do so anyway. Besides, it's his property, not her own. He can do as he pleases with it and he (the old him?) chooses to keep hold of it and allow it to remain a time capsule. Even his daughter's tricycle still litters the lounge, as it would have done when she was still alive to play with it.

"I could have been happy."

"I know."

"Why did you do it?"

This time, it's her turn to give a wordless, noncommittal shrug. How can she phrase it, if she barely understands it herself? The thoughts are still jumbled up. All she knows is that they both need him to be back to normal, fully back to his senses. There's a reason they've worked together for so long and that's because they just complement one another.

He falls into a contemplative silence and she does the same. She suspects that he already knows that she believes he wouldn't have been truly happy, living a half-life. That he knows that her feelings for him run way deeper than they should. (Though, he'd even worked that one out by doing a cold-reading of her, shortly after he'd regained consciousness.) That she believes she's the only one with half a chance to help him through whatever it is he needs helping with.

Lisbon takes a deep breath, almost relishing in the salty wind. They can't see the sea, it's far too dark for that, but they can still tell it's there. Kind of like the distance between them. The problems they share and the ones they choose not to. The things they tell one another, and those they don't need to. What they're slowly hurtling towards, however much they try to push it aside and try to deny it.

Even this latest scare has done nothing to dampen that, it seems.

"Lisbon?"

That eventual use of her surname, along with his interrupting of the waves, actually takes her off-guard. She jolts slightly and he grins in response. It takes all of her self-control to resist hitting him. The anger management course that LaRoche had forced her to endure had had some effect on her, it seems.

"Yes, Jane?"

"Thank you."

She furrows her brow. "What for?"

He simply shrugs in response and she remains, irritatingly, oblivious. Jane covers her hand with his own and, (rather annoyingly) her heart skips a beat. Lisbon knows now that she has her Jane back and secretly, she's pleased. But equally, she cannot help but wonder if there is still some sort of damage lying underneath, if there's something he's not telling her. He may be good at telling the truth, especially when you don't want to hear it, but he's equally good at concealment, too.

But really, what more can she expect from him?

Besides, this is better than nothing at all.


	26. Determined

**A/N: **Just finished writing all of my Holiday Fics today. I feel very pleased with myself for that! This was actually the last one I completed, despite it being today's fic. Not entirely sure about it, but what can you do?

Thank you to: Wldwmn, Brown Eyes Parker, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, Aeidhryn, SteeleSimz and anthropologist for reviewing Broken and Scarred.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **I'll Write You A Tragedy  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy.  
**Spoilers:** General for Season 4.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Quote is from F. Scott Fitzgerald.  
**Notes: **Written for cifre as a part of the holiday fics challenge. Penultimate story... Also for table G: crash and burn on mentalistprompt.

**I'll Write You A Tragedy**

Let me tell you a story.

It doesn't have a happy ending, but neither does real life. Why should stories have to apply a different rule of thumb? Why do they need that happily ever after? There's always something in the 'after' which means it isn't necessarily all sunshine and roses. There are complications and heartache and tragedy, just as there is in real life. But people forget that, because they want _closure_.

There isn't much closure in this tale, either, now that I come to think of it.

There's a hero though. All good stories have a hero. Somebody dashing and brave and charismatic and charming. Somebody who will save the day and the love of their life, all without breaking into a sweat.

Or, she's five foot three, stubborn, abrasive and persistent. Still brave though; she has to be, given her job title. But that's beside the point. She's brave regardless. Built into her, as it were.

The love of her life, he's the suave one. He'll break your heart, given half a chance.

He breaks hers on a day to day basis, not that either of them will admit to that.

But this all doesn't matter. This is just the ground rules. There's still a tale to tell, if you'll give me half a chance.

xxx

It starts like any old day for them.

He's already at the CBI headquarters, having not actually left the night before. She arrives at the crack of dawn, having barely slept.

It's obvious that she's shattered, that she's pushing herself too hard, but he doesn't say a word. Not his place to say, even though he wishes he could find the courage to do so. He can tease her, cajole her, generally make things difficult for her, yes, but something like that? It's a step too far. That little bit _too_ affectionate. Suggests that the walls they've built up between one another could be knocked down and crossed over.

There are borderlines there for a reason. The unwritten rules specify that they're not to be crossed at any time and both of them are more than happy to live by them. For now, anyway. They don't even need to address the reasons why they're there at all. They just _are_.

Still, he hands her a coffee, despite all that. Nobody wants to get within a five mile radius of her if she hasn't had her morning coffee. If she doesn't have her caffeine fix, then she's like a bear with a bad head.

She thinks of it as one of the few nice things that he actually does. He merely sees it as damage limitation.

xxx

They're called out to a case. There's nothing surprising about this. It _is_ in the job description, after all.

He pretends to sulk, claiming that he'd just drifted off to sleep, but she sees right through it. They've known each other too long for her not to so. Eventually, he relents, just as she expects and they head to the van.

The journey isn't quiet; it rarely is when they're both in one of these moods. The kind when they just feel like baiting one another, just want to argue about trivial things. Like who's driving, whether or not the team believes there's a _thing_ going on between them, about his methodology when it comes to crime fighting. There's some things they'll never agree on, but that's half the fun.

It makes things interesting, disagreeing. Neither of them would want their relationship (not that it is a relationship of course, they are strictly co-workers) to grow stale and boring. They feed off of each other's energies, in a strange sort of way. It's important to them both.

Of course, their traveling companions don't enjoy the sparring matches quite as much. Yes, they're used to them, but that doesn't mean they don't wear a little thin after a while. There's only so much seemingly bitter disagreement you can listen to without getting sick of it. They can block it out, to an extent, but needless to say, once they finally reach their destination, they're happy to finally be able to escape the confines of the relatively small vehicle.

However, the other two find their spirits lifted by the time they arrive. Not one member of the team is affected by crime scenes, not anymore. It's just part of the course. The fact that somebody has died is sad, of course, but they can't get too overemotional.

They have a job to do.

xxx

The good mood evaporates the moment they see the smiley face on the wall.

Red John changes everything.

xxx

She always says next time.

Now, he's wondering if _this_ time is that next time she always promises him.

There's a gun lying on the desk opposite. She doesn't know he has it, but it's the same gun he used to kill Timothy Carter. Light fingers make quick work. The old switcheroo trick always works. Deep in the CBI vaults, in the evidence storage area, lays a plastic gun in lieu of this one.

He smirks at the thought of the look on Luther Wainwright's face if he ever discovers what he's done.

But he won't, because the case is dead and buried. Or at least, that's what everyone thinks.

The team are harried and stressed, of course they are. That's because they believe this is yet another copycat killer. (Apart from her, of course. She's in on the little secret, though it makes her feel incredibly uneasy.) One day, they'll work out that the villain in this piece is alive.

Just not yet.

He's got a few more things to figure out before he can let more people know what the hell is going on.

xxx

"I've got something."

He's surprised at the words; normally they're the ones he directs at her. But regardless of how things appear, he knows that she's phenomenal at her job, that she doesn't need him to close cases. She just chooses to have him around. If she'd gotten sick of him, she could have had him kicked off her team years ago. Literally.

Cocking his head slightly he regards her.

She's tired, more so than usual. The stress and workload she's putting herself under are taking their toll. It's almost like she's trying to work herself into an early grave. Someone – he – should intervene, but he doesn't.

He knows why she's doing this, because it's what he does to himself as well.

This is Red John. They have to work hard. It's the only way they can give themselves even half a chance of apprehending (of killing) the serial killer.

Laziness is not an option. It isn't in their jobs anyway, but it's even more paramount that they throw their heart and soul into this one.

Especially for him. This is _his_ vengeance they are chasing.

xxx

It turns out to be a dead end.

She's devastated, of course she is.

Not as devastated as he is though. He needs this to be over, more than anything else in the world.

After all, once it is, he can actually start living again instead of existing. That would make a nice change.

xxx

She spends the whole night tossing and turning. The latest dead end has been plaguing her thoughts ever since they found it lead to nowhere.

It just doesn't add up. She feels like it should have worked out this time around. The fact that it hasn't just doesn't make sense. As far as she's concerned, it's like she has all the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle but isn't quite sure how she's meant to be putting it together again.

And it should be so simple. In theory, anyway.

Screwing her eyes shut, she tries desperately to switch her traitorous mind off. She's exhausted, she needs to sleep. If she doesn't, she'll end up with the same kind of problems as _him_ and that will never do.

Somebody has to keep watch of him and nobody else has the determination (or the patience) to be able to keep track of him and his antics.

However, her brain has other ideas. She can't stop thinking about work at the best of times, never mind the worst.

Her eyes spring open. It could have been mere minutes later, or it could have been hours. It's hard to judge the passage of time when laying in the inky blackness of her bedroom.

"Gotcha," she says with a wry smile.

xxx

He looks as tired as she feels when she knocks agitatedly at his motel room door. She almost feels guilty; it looks like she actually disturbed him from sleep. Considering just how dire his sleeping pattern is, it's a miracle that he had been getting any rest at all.

Still, she cannot feel completely guilty because she knows he needs to hear this. Knows that this is just what he wants, what he needs.

If they hurry up, they could close this damn thing.

And she'll have saved him from however many more years of misery.

She's practically brimming with optimism now, which is unusual for her. Especially so when it's the Red John case that they're dealing with; that's always seemed doomed to misery. It just drags down their moods and reminds them how many steps behind him they are. How far away they've been from him for _years_.

Still, this could be it.

Instead of explaining in the motel room, she drags him out, barely giving him time to change into his three piece suit. He senses her agitation, her need to get on the move. The sooner they're there, the sooner they can spring into action.

She explains on the way.

Now, he understands her impatience.

xxx

It's a near-derelict building.

The scaffolding looks ominous, somehow.

She instructs him to stay in the van, but knows deep down, that he won't listen. Really, she's regretting bringing him at all; she should have left him to his midnight slumber. She and the team are more than capable of handling this. However, if she'd done just that, he'd probably have never forgiven her.

The words _Red John is mine_ ring in her head. That's what he always says, after all.

In a swift, fluid movement, she slips on the bulletproof vest and removes her gun from its holster. It's nearly time for action. The adrenalin is beginning to hit her system properly now, she wants to get going, get this over and done with.

But the others are not here yet and the longer she waits, the more likely it is that he'll slip through her fingers.

It's foolhardy, but she makes an executive decision to go it alone.

She can't wait any longer.

And of course, she has to _play the hero_. It's what she does best.

xxx

Of course he follows.

She doesn't start; she can't risk letting their target know their location.

Besides, there's always time for reprimands later.

It doesn't take long, but she spots her target.

_Now_ is the time for action.

xxx

There's a gunshot. It's meant for him. It was always meant for him.

She reacts before she can think. This is what she's trained to do: to save lives.

And as far as she's concerned, his life is worth saving more than most, however much he's likely to disagree with that concept.

He screams.

It's a direct hit.

She stumbles over the precipice thanks to the sheer blow of the bullet hitting her full force.

A building covered in scaffolding is never the best place to have a shootout, after all. The propensity for damage is so much higher than normal.

xxx

She's left fighting for her life.

He spends each day by her bedside.

Until she wakes from the coma, that is.

xxx

Although she begs and cajoles and pleads, it's physically impossible for her to return to her job. She's wheelchair bound now. How the hell can you be an officer of the law when you're stuck in a set of wheels for the rest of your life? It just wouldn't work, however much she – and they – wish it would. After all, before her accident, she had been one of the best. If they could have her back, they would in a heartbeat.

But they can't. That's just the way it goes.

Instead, she's offered a placement as FBI liaison officer. It's still within law enforcement, but it's not doing what she truly loves. She lost that in a split second decision.

It's one that she cannot regret for an instant, of course not. Her actions saved a life. Not just any life, but _his_ life. But she still cannot help but feel resentful of the aftermath of it all.

He's taken off and everything she worked so hard for has slipped through her fingers.

Who would be happy with that?

xxx

Does he come back?

Maybe. Not yet, though.

Would that make either of them happy? Who knows? Not even them, most probably.

They have too many issues to sort through first.

Red John, for starters.

Anything else comes secondary to that.


	27. Empathy

**A/N: **So, I hadn't forgotten about updating. Truth be told, it's now getting to the stage where I just have multiparters to upload. Fun, fun, fun. I also still have that damn migraine. I really wish it'd go away, sick of being sick and all that.

Thank you to: lolly2222, anthropologist, mentalistfan123 (I'm impressed with how much you've read in 2 hours!), TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme and Aeidhry for reviewing I'll Write You A Tragedy. I'll try and reply to reviews soon!

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Better Days  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** The aftermath of Bosco's death can still be felt months after the event.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for lil smiles as a part of the holiday fics challenge. Last one! *collapses*

**Better Days**

She walks into the café and the breath catches the back of her throat.

This doesn't go unnoticed by Jane. Of course it wouldn't. He notices everything. Sometimes, she wishes that he wasn't quite so all-knowing, that she could keep a secret or two from him. He knows that too, but it's not exactly something he can control. Besides, she's all too _tempting_ to read. She just doesn't realize that.

Instead, he covers her hand with his own as they walk up to the counter.

He knows why she reacted the way she did. This is the place which she used to frequent with Bosco, after he moved from San Francisco to Sacramento. Since his death, she's avoided using it for the simple fact that she doesn't want to face the memories. She likes to avoid the heartache, the pain. It's understandable, of course. Who wouldn't?

It hurts her, knowing that she won't see him again. Teresa Lisbon misses Bosco more than she'll ever care to admit, least of all to him, Patrick Jane. He was a friend, her mentor. Any feelings she'd had for him were wrong. He had been happily married to Mandy for longer than even she had known him.

And Red John had stolen him away her, from all of them.

Jane blames himself for that, of course he does.

This void, this emptiness that Lisbon feels is essentially his fault. If he hadn't compromised the Red John case, then it would never have been passed over to Bosco's unit in the first place. Then, they wouldn't have been slaughtered by the serial killer, simply because Red John didn't approve anyone excepting Jane working the case.

Then, she wouldn't be trapped in this state of limbo and he wouldn't have needed to add something else to his growing pile of guilt.

Sometimes, he wishes that he hadn't gotten so attached to the senior agent. It would have been easier for him if he hadn't. He would have remained more single minded, more focused on the task in hand. That being the death of Red John, of course.

If anything, the Bosco situation means he feels even more validated in his desire to slice Red John open and watch him bleed to a slow and painful death. He causes so much heartbreak and so much anguish, that it's the least the bastard deserves. And he doesn't stop. It isn't enough that he's butchered his family; he's now taunting the people he's grown to care about. Rigsby. Van Pelt. Cho. Lisbon. Especially Lisbon.

She blames herself too. Of course she can't let Jane take all the credit - that just wouldn't do. After all, she is the senior agent in charge of the case. Jane knows that she believes that she should have apprehended the serial killer ages ago, and thus, the murder of one of her dearest friends by him would never have been a concept she'd have needed to face. As much as Jane feels that fury bubbling in the pit of his stomach, that reminder of that fateful day when his world had been turned upside down, and reaffirmation of his desires, Lisbon feels like she's letting the criminals win, like she's failing at the one thing she's good at.

So, he likes to shoulder as much of it as possible. It's not fair that she takes on even more than she already has done so. He knows he's a handful to say the least; it's an incorrigible urge that he just cannot temper, however much he tries. Even his wife hadn't been able to dampen his spirit.

He buys her a coffee and that meatball sub, the one she hasn't been able to face since Bosco's passing. The hurt is evident in her eyes, but he knows this is important. That it's a part of the healing process. If she doesn't try and face some of the things that remind her of him, she never will be able to. That's something she should already understand, given her history. However, certain things are easier said than done. He can't judge her for that. He's been there before. In reality, he's still there now.

Mostly because there's not really been anyone to make him face up to certain facts. Or at least, not until she had walked into his life, however reluctantly.

Jane wonders what he'd do without her in his life. It's a dangerous game, getting close to anyone right now. He might as well be painting a giant target for Red John on her back. Then again, she'd simply argue that she's already a target, it doesn't matter what Jane does. By default, she has to be wary, take into account the risks entailed in doing her job. She knows full well that if she gets too close to Red John, then that could be it.

The serial killer has already had the gumption to kill an entire unit within the four walls of the CBI headquarters. He certainly wouldn't think twice about chipping off the members of the Serious Crimes Unit one by one.

But Jane can't let that happen, not again. If it does, then he knows that there'll be no hope of recovery. He'll be straight off in the deep end, without any lifesavers in sight.

Because she is his life raft. She keeps him sane, despite the fact he has given himself such a grim task. Lisbon reminds him of the joys of life, that there is a reason to live despite the gray.

She is his reason to live, because, despite everything she's been through, she still somehow finds a way to stand up and fight another day. She's tenacious like that.

And it will get easier for her, he knows it will. It may take a little time, but a wise man once said that time made the best healer. He could wait for that. Jane knows that he'll have to.

Besides, she's made of stronger stuff than he is. He has faith in her; she can do this.

It's just a case of making that turn around the corner. She's nearly there; she just requires that little extra nudge. After all, if she can find the hope, the will to live again, then it means that he has no excuse to do just the same.


	28. Surprised

**A/N: **So, it's been a while since I last updated this collection. I apologise; I haven't had much cause to write oneshots lately. However, I've just managed to finish this one for the Paint It Red ficathon. We're looking for more fic, more prompts and more art, so please come join us! Also, the Paint It Red Awards have just launched. We're looking for nominees for many fic and art awards, so if you know of anyone who deserves recognition, please join the forum and nominate.

Right, so that's enough promoting.

Thank you to: lil smiles, Wldwmn, Frogster, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, mentalistfan123, anthropologist, SharpestSatire, lolly2222, saeo and MentalMeg911 for reviewing Better Days.

This one is along a very similar theme... sorry.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Circles  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** Jane needs Lisbon, but he knows where he needs the boundaries too.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for browneyesparker as a part of the Paint It Red ficathon 2012.

**Circles**

Lisbon sits, her head buried in the palms of her hands. She remains stock still, almost oblivious to the rest of the world. Jane knows that she's lost in her own thought, her own mind. It's something she does when the straightening doesn't work, when barking at the rest of the team for pointless reasons doesn't quell her frustrations. He knows he shouldn't be quietly pleased about the fact, but it does mean he can creep into her office unannounced. There's something rather tempting about a stationary Lisbon. So rarely does she completely withdraw herself from her environment; even when engrossed in paperwork, she keeps at least one eye open. It's her way of keeping an eye on her own back. For some reason, she hasn't quite learned that she can trust the others to do so for her.

Moving stealthily, Jane gently pulls out the chair and takes a seat opposite her. It doesn't take a psychic to realize exactly what has sent her into this catatonic state. It doesn't even take somebody with his, frankly, staggering skills either. Jane remains stock still, not particularly in the mood to pull her out of her reverie. If he does, then he knows that she will tear him to shreds for not bothering to knock when he entered her office. Then again, it's highly likely that she will do that anyway, so he is not entirely sure what he's waiting for. Possibly, he believes that she deserves these few moments of respite; that she needs a brief while to come to terms with the situation.

He had been there, had witnessed the precise moment when the shock had entered her system. Lisbon had shaken visibly, though it had been barely noticeable to the untrained eye. Of course, being a seasoned professional, she had quickly pulled herself together and sent the grieving father on his merry way, but not before the words had already taken their toll.

_"I am going to make sure that you are held accountable..."_

That wouldn't have been too much of a problem, had Lisbon not already been blaming herself. But of course she does; she would t be Lisbon if she didn't. If only she had moved a little faster on her feet, if only she had been able to get that shot in in time…

If only the innocent girl hadn't been kidnapped in the first place.

And that's the crux of the matter. Jane knows full well that Lisbon tried her utmost to save that man's daughter. If she had succeeded, then she would have been hailed as a hero. As she failed - as happens so often in this situation - that somehow means she is the one to blame. Only in a twisted world like this one could somebody be blamed for trying and failing rather than the bastard who is actually responsible for the girl's death. And even worse, Lisbon herself somehow believes the callous words and that she didn't do enough to prevent it from happening in the first place. Jane knows from years of observation that she can never do enough, though. He is also more than aware that she just needs some time to pull herself back together again and then all would return to normal.

It takes a few more minutes for her to notice his presence and when she does so, she almost jumps. Only almost, for she is more than aware of his shenanigans and almost expects them at times like this. She has to be, to be able to clean up after his atypical wake of destruction.

"Jane," she says, her voice wan and hollow. "You scared the crap out of me."

"Don't exaggerate," he chastises, a small smile tracing across his features. "You knew I was here."

Lisbon scowls in response. Only she can make such an expression look endearing; Jane isn't quite sure how she manages. For somebody so full of fire, so intimidating, she can be awfully cute without even really trying. He knows that if he even dares to put forward that point of view, that she would never accept it, however. Though he does enjoy bickering with her on occasion, even he knows what a step too far is. Instead, he knows that he has to pull her out of this mood. The longer she stays in it, the more the repercussions are felt on the rest of the team. Besides, she isn't the one to blame. Jane is more than experienced when it comes to guilt; he also knows that hers is entirely misplaced. They've arrested the kidnapper-come-murderer. There isn't anything more that she could have done. The case is closed; the relief should be washing over them in waves.

Instead, she is just dwelling on the words of an angry man. He doesn't blame her; she is one who always tries a little too hard to please. She only appears relatively healthy and normal in comparison to him. Everyone knows she works too hard; it's just they don't dare say it to her face. Even he doesn't dare to do so, for fear of the reaction it would receive. The last thing Jane wants is for his main connection to the land of the living to close off, to shut him out again. Though he is loath to admit it, he needs her, more than (almost) anything else.

"So?"

"I'm not in the mood for games, Jane," she sighs.

"Who said anything about playing games?"

"Isn't that all you ever do?"

He shrugs and reaches across the desk to take her hands. Almost as soon as he makes contact, she withdraws her own and places them neatly on her lap, almost as if she is afraid to make physical contact. This isn't the first time he's seen Lisbon so broken, and he sincerely doubts it will be the last, though he wishes it is. After all, she's such a _good_ person, (there is a reason he once nicknamed her Glinda the Good) she doesn't deserve to be messed around like this, especially by people she's trying to help. It's hypocritical, he knows it is. If he could give her more than he currently is, then he would. But it's difficult; there's so many unanswered questions, so many loose ends to tie up. If everything wasn't so complicated, then maybe he would be able to give her what she deserves, instead of the scraps he currently has on offer.

And right now, it seems that that is better than nothing at all. If it can drag her kicking and screaming back to normal, then it would be a job well done.

Jane's eyes linger on the emptied yoghurt pot precariously balanced on the edge of her desk. Next to it lays a banana peel. The detritus hasn't even made it into the bin yet; the cleaners would be furious if they saw it. He's also rather annoyed, in a way. That is all she's eaten since eleven a.m. and it's nearly seven in the evening. It's little wonder people worry about her, despite her protestations that she can, indeed, look after herself. She's too independent for her own good sometimes, too busy worrying about the needs of others before herself. Still, this is something he can work, something he can actually fix. It won't require too much effort on his part, though it will hit his bank balance. However, as its _Lisbon_, he doesn't have to worry about it making too much of an indentation; she's frugal to the extreme. She also seems convinced that everyone else ought to live in such a way and that's despite his frivolous gifts of ponies, jewelry and couches. At least she's kept one of the three, he surmises.

"No games," he assures her, though the look in her eyes suggests she's less than convinced. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

He even draws the cross over his heart with the index finger of his right hand. That alone is enough to draw a snicker out of Lisbon, in spite of herself. It's childish, just as she told him not to do so, but that's half the point. Besides, Jane sees it as half the battle being won. It's good to see her smile, especially after a hell of a day, like this one. He smiles once again, in response, and she finds that she has to tear her gaze away from him. There's only so long she seems capable of looking him directly in the eye.

"You need to eat," he adds, when the silence gets unbearable. "Unless, you're trying to make yourself sick of course. Then, I'd suggest that you just use some of your vacation instead."

"I don't need a vacation."

"Sure you don't," he responds skeptically. "C'mon, my treat."

She looks suspicious, but Jane is relieved when she actually relents. Most likely, because his pointed reminder has made her realize just how little she's eaten all day. Besides, even she cannot say no to free food. The meal ends up being a quiet, casual affair. Italian; nobody can beat the lasagna at Mario's, as far as he's concerned. And anyway, he knows that it's her favorite cuisine, even if she only picks at her linguine today. Again, he's not surprised, but he does try and convince her to eat a little more before the plates are whisked away. He explicitly keeps the conversation away from work, light and airy. Though she barely seems to realize, this is more than just a way for him to feed her up a little. It's his way of trying to divert her mind from dangerous territories such as lawsuits which will never happen. The man has no grounds; anyone of sound(ish) mind can see that she tried her best.

When she invites him into her modest townhouse, he absolutely cannot resist. Jane can count the number of times she's willingly invited him inside on one hand and each time, he aches for more. It's not that he wants to be an integral part of Lisbon's life (he knows he cannot offer her everything she needs), he just finds her terribly fascinating. She's not transparent, she's translucent and it's that small detail that makes all the difference. If things were different, then maybe, just maybe, he'd allow himself to give into her. As it is, he holds back for both their sakes. It's not as if she really wants to settle for somebody as broken as him, anyway.

She offers him tea, as she always does whenever he's in her kitchen. Jane watches as she moves around, painfully aware that she is being observed. Still, she prepares his drink swiftly. Not to perfection, but there's always been a quality in her tea that he enjoys, even if it isn't how he would make it himself. Lisbon's still on edge, even after they've taken a seat with their drinks on her couch. Jane watches as she fiddles with her cross, before tapping her foot incessantly. It's like there's something trying to explode out of her; but somehow, she cannot find the right way to get it out.

"What's wrong, Lisbon?" he asks quietly, concern eventually getting the better of him.

"Us, this," she eventually utters. "It's like we're going round in circles."

Jane frowns. He does know what she means, despite the slightly obscure phrasing, but it's something he explicitly brushes under the carpet and he has always assumed that she was happy to do the same too. Clearly, he has sorely misjudged that. Or rather, she's seeing his olive branch as being the invitation to open up that little bit more. Though she indulged in a glass of wine or two over dinner, it's no way near enough for drunken confessions. She's not even tipsy, not really. No, Jane knows that she's more than aware of what she is saying. That she will be able to remember this come morning, instead of being able to brush it aside.

"You _know_ how I feel about you; you always say that I'm easy to read," she says, gaining confidence as she speaks. "I just want us to stop pretending."

"Stop pretending?" he echoes, slightly unsure.

"Yes, that nothing's there. We've been doing so for so long and it's…" she trails off as Jane pushes the teacup away from him.

She watches nervously as he stands. This isn't how Jane expected the evening to end. If he had predicted it, then he would never have accepted her invitation, however much he loves having the chance to investigate her home. Instead, he'd have just said goodbye at the door and waited until morning to see her again.

"Thank you for the tea," he says, knowing that his tone sounds stilted, almost strangled.

He just knows that he needs to get out of there, to be able to think straight.

Lisbon's confession should never have hit him like this; she's right, he _did_ know they had been lying to one another for years now. However, it doesn't make it any easier now that the fact is being addressed out in the open.

It hurts him to leave, but not as much as it hurts her.

He'll give her a proper answer as soon as feasibly possible. Right now, it just isn't.


	29. Curious

**A/N:** This took far too long to write! You may see why, after you've read.

Thank you to: mentalistfan123, Wldwmn, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, Brown Eyes Parker and SharpestSatire for reviewing _Circles_.

Cookies to anyone who can pick out all the Wicked quotes. ;-)

And this update marks me posting my 1 millionth word on this website!

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Road of Good Intentions  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** "She was going to see Wicked tomorrow." Little did Lisbon know that that small observation was going to start Jane off on something.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for watchyouwalk as a part of the Paint It Red ficathon 2012. Also for the Paint It Read monthly challenge. Prompt: surrender. Thank you to wickedshadow, who prompted this ages ago, and I only just started thinking about it lately.

**Road of Good Intentions**

"What do we got?"

Lisbon's voice preceded her as she entered the small room where the victim had been discovered. In response, Rigsby straightened up and turned to face his petite boss. Swiftly, he handed over the clipboard where he had been diligently making notes and she scanned over it quickly. She took a few steps closer to the body, to observe the damage for herself. As useful as words from her colleagues were, there was nothing like getting a first-hand look at a body. It was one of the best ways for her to start wrapping her head around a case, after all.

"Alyson Harding, 23," Rigsby stated, keeping it succinct and Lisbon nodded at the facts he supplied her with. "Lived with her boyfriend and two friends. Came home early from a night out and…"

He trailed off. There was no need for him to fill in the missing words; evidence of Ms. Harding's fate was clear for all to see. For a brief while, Rigsby and Cho watched as Lisbon scrutinized the poor girl, taking note of the small details. Lisbon always took her cases terribly seriously; she always liked to take her time, especially with Jane about. Subconsciously, she had been taking on board some of his skills, learning the importance of the smaller details, the fine print, as it were. Now, it was getting to the stage where she wanted to pick up on the observational cues quicker than he did, simply to prove to him that she didn't need his assistance; she merely chose it, because she knew it did _him_ good.

"Who discovered the body?"

"Haley Wright, one of the housemates."

"Anything else?" she enquired.

"Oh, oh I have something," Jane interrupted, before Rigsby even had a chance to respond.

"What is it, Jane?" Lisbon asked, clearly not in the mood.

"She was going to see Wicked tomorrow."

"Well, I guess she won't be going anymore, then," Lisbon said wryly. "Now do you have something actually useful to say?"

"Not yet."

"When you do, let me know," she instructed, before turning away from him. "Until then, just be quiet and stay out of trouble, okay?"

"Yes, boss."

Though he had answered with an affirmative, Lisbon sincerely doubted Jane's capability to stay of trouble. Still, she liked to at least appear in control of her team and especially, a certain consultant, in front of the CSI guys and the coroner. However, as time went on, she doubted herself more and more. Persuading Jane of the benefits of actually behaving was like drawing blood out of a stone; virtually impossible. At least he closed cases, she reminded herself as she went to glean some more information about the deceased from the coroner. He did have some benefits, even if sometimes she was forced to wonder if they outweighed the negatives.

xxx

"When was the last time you went to the theater, Lisbon?" Jane asked the moment they were back in the SUV.

"Can't remember," she lied, before adding, "why?"

"Just wondered," he remarked lightly and Lisbon was surprised that he didn't challenge her blatant lie.

"Is it because of those Wicked tickets you saw in the victim's bedroom?" she asked dubiously.

Jane nodded and she sighed. Sometimes, she wished for the days when she remembered how to keep him at arm's length, when his anecdotes and odd conversations were more of a hindrance than an amusement. Lisbon knew the reason why she hadn't been to the theater for so long. She also knew it wouldn't be too long until Jane worked out what it was, not that she was particularly in the right frame of mind to tell him. All she wanted to do was get to the victim's parents' house in order to break the bad news. Rigsby and Cho had been left behind, doing an excellent job in grilling the flat mates.

"Had you even heard of-"

"Of course I have," Lisbon interrupted. "It's not exactly that unknown. Something to do with the Wizard of Oz, right?"

"I'm impressed," Jane replied with a smirk. "I would have thought that people randomly bursting into song wasn't your kind of thing."

"You don't need to have seen Wicked to know that it has something to do with the Wizard of Oz," she retorted stiffly. "The adverts have the Wicked Witch of the West all over them, for a start."

"She was framed, you know."

"What?"

"The Wicked Witch of the West," he stated lightly, grinning as he did so. "She was framed."

"Whatever."

"You should see Wicked," he persisted, "then maybe you'd know the true story behind the witches of Oz."

"I'm not going to see Wicked," Lisbon answered, fiddling with her cross pendant as she did so.

"Why not?"

"I don't have time."

"Or is it because you haven't set foot in a theater since your mom died?"

Lisbon opened her mouth to retort, but promptly clamped it shut. Of course he was going to realize it had something to do with her mother. Theater had been a treat, back when she was still alive. It was a way for them to escape all the testosterone in household. The moment she died, Lisbon had always found an excuse to avoid setting foot in theaters again. It hadn't helped that the fatal crash her mother had been involved in happened to occur on her way home from a trip to the theater with friends, either. The only reason Lisbon herself hadn't been in the car was because she had been suffering from a sickness bug.

Still, she wasn't about to tell Jane all of that. He knew enough about her already and always had a way of working it out. For some reason, she suspected that he'd probably deduced it from the fact she had started toying with her necklace. She cursed quietly at herself. Really, she should know to keep control of her tells. Talking to Jane was like playing poker with a cards master. Then again, she knew full well he was practically a master at that, too. But it was beside the point. Her mom was off-limits, even for Jane.

And they _did_ have a case to be working on; she couldn't be seen out at the theater, having fun, when a girl had just died, really.

xxx

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Lisbon said honestly as the woman crumpled into her husband's arms.

It was something she had done so many times before, but it never got any easier. Of course, she had learned over time how to deal with grieving widowers, parents, friends and the like over time, but she always dreaded the moment when she had to turn somebody's life upside down. You couldn't bring back the dead; all you could do was supply them with the answers they craved. Which was better than nothing at all; at least it offered closure. Except for when they couldn't close the case, for one reason or another. Case in point was Red John. Jane lingered behind her; he understood the loss of a parent better than most, having been there. Lisbon knew that it didn't get any easier for him and she doubted that even if Red John were six feet under, it still wouldn't help him personally.

After Mrs. Harding composed herself, Jane and Lisbon were invited indoors. Jane, as usual, took a step back and chose to have a look around the family home. Lisbon, meanwhile, took charge of the questioning. Deftly, she managed to ease the answers she required out of the obviously devastated parents. Jane didn't need to say much and Lisbon was quietly pleased. He often had a habit of insulting relatives of the deceased unnecessarily. Of course, sometimes, it transpired that they were the killer, but not always. Less rumpled feathers the better, as far as she was concerned. It meant less paperwork, after all.

"Is there anyone, anyone at all, who would have wanted to harm your daughter?" Lisbon asked quietly.

"No! No," Mrs. Harding retorted immediately, aghast. "Everybody loved Alyson."

Lisbon suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. If she had a dollar for every time somebody said that during a case, then it would… well. She wouldn't have enough to retire on, but it would at least supply her with a nice nest egg. Of course, somebody had wanted to hurt Alyson, otherwise she wouldn't have met an untimely demise.

"Well, goodness knows, the wicked's lives are lonely," Jane said, speaking for the first time in a while.

"And what the hell does that mean?" Lisbon answered back, the couple looking as bemused as she felt.

"Just that you might not have known the killer. Do you know all the friends of your daughter?"

"Of course not…"

"Well then, he – or she – might have had a small friendship circle, might have only counted your daughter and a couple of other people amongst their friends."

"Jane…"

"And lonely people can do strange things."

"Jane!" Lisbon repeated, louder this time around.

"What?"

"You're not being helpful."

"You're right, I'm not. Carry on."

xxx

They were back at the CBI headquarters, updating Van Pelt on the case over a coffee. Jane still seemed a little distracted, but at least he had stopped pestering her about the theater and the fact she hadn't attended for a long while. Lisbon knew that Van Pelt was still a little irritated at being left doing desk duty again, but it was her turn, so it was only fair. The early stages of a case were always the most frustrating; sometimes, it felt like they weren't getting anywhere. Really, it was just her impatience – not that she liked to admit to that, but she hated it whenever they were going nowhere fast.

"Agent Lisbon?" a man stated and strode directly up to Jane, proffering a hand.

Jane looked rather taken aback, much to Lisbon's delight. It didn't happen often, but whenever somebody assumed that Jane was the senior agent, Lisbon found herself equally irritated and amused by _Jane_ being mistaken for a cop. Still, whenever it did happen, his face was always a picture. It was almost as if he couldn't imagine anything worse.

"That would be me," she spoke loudly and strode up to him. "Senior Agent _Teresa_ Lisbon. How can I help you?"

"She may be a mere Munchkin, but she can still pack one hell of a punch," Jane mused, causing the visitor to frown and Lisbon to glare at him.

"Shut up, Jane," she retorted and punched him lightly on the arm.

"See what I mean?"

Jane rubbed his arm vigorously, making out that he had been injured more seriously than he had actually been. Lisbon promptly ignored him and instead, returned her attentions to their visitor. Swiftly, she guided him to her office, glad to be getting rid of Jane for a bit. Obviously, he wasn't done with the whole Wizard of Oz, or Wicked, thing just yet. Besides, she had to find out what their visitor was there for.

She just hoped it was something to do with the case.

xxx

"Hello, Lisbon."

"What do you want Jane?"

She didn't even bother to look up from the file to address him; she just _knew_ it was him. Lisbon had worked with Jane more than long enough to know that he was virtually the only person who thought it was okay to enter her office _without_ knocking.

"Well, it seems that the artichoke is steamed."

"Really? You just called me a _vegetable_?" she asked, slightly insulted and only mildly shocked.

"Um..."

"As if that makes any sense," she retorted and placed down her pen, to finally regard him.

"You'd know what it means if you came and saw Wicked with me."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Because you're intrigued."

"No I'm not," she scoffed.

"But I can get us really good seats for tonight's performance," Jane answered, pouting. "It's a coup really, a bit scandalacious actually."

"Now you're just making up words."

"No I'm not," he answered back and waggled his eyebrows a little. "So?"

"No."

It had been a long while since she had last seen Jane look quite so disappointed. She almost felt guilty, but she _really_ didn't want to go to the theater. It had almost become natural for her to avoid any trips to any theater. And in a way, she was almost afraid of going, mostly because she hadn't been since her mother had passed away. In some ways, it was a shame, but at the same time, Lisbon knew it was a very expensive hobby. Certainly not one she could afford on her wages. It was probably for the best that she didn't go, even without the obvious discomfort associated with it.

"Why not?"

"I'm busy."

"Really?" Jane replied, surprised. "Oh, no, you mean with work."

"And?"

"You need to take a break sometimes, Lisbon. It isn't healthy"

"We've just got a new case!"

"Exactly, nothing interesting ever happens until we're at least halfway through a case," he argued, his sunny smile quickly returning.

"And we've just got an important lead," she answered back with a grin. "That man who thought you were me? Turns out he was the last person to see Alyson Harding alive. _And_ he saw someone suspicious following her home."

"So you're saying I should leave you to it, then?"

"Yes."

xxx

"What's wrong, boss?"

"Nothing."

Van Pelt raised a skeptical eyebrow. She had already received the case file and instructions to chase up the lead, thanks to their visitor and yet, she had lingered at Lisbon's office door. Lisbon steepled her fingers as she regarded the junior agent. Still, she remained there, waiting for Lisbon to expand on it. The team had all grown closer, and once again, Lisbon knew that there was no hiding from the fact she was somewhat preoccupied. However, that didn't mean it was any of Van Pelt's concern.

"_Nothing_ is wrong, Van Pelt," she persisted.

"Really?"

"I'm getting a bit sick of Jane going on and on about that damn musical."

"What, Wicked?"

"Yes!"

"You should go, boss. It's _wonderful_."

"Oh, Van Pelt, not you too?"

"Not me what?" Van Pelt replied, perplexed.

"I'm getting enough grief from Jane about it, never mind you adding to it."

"I just saw it when it stopped by last year," Van Pelt said with a shrug. "I just think you'd enjoy it. I'd go again if I could."

Lisbon narrowed her eyes slightly. She had immediately read Van Pelt's non-committal statement as meaning 'if you would give me the vacation time.' Well, it was either that or she hadn't been able to get hold of some tickets. However, Jane had already informed her that he was able to get some for tonight, so she sincerely doubted that. Whichever it was, she wasn't entirely bothered. It didn't make a difference either way; Van Pelt could, theoretically, go on a work night, if they weren't too busy, anyway.

"Thanks for the insight," Lisbon muttered, glaring at her. "Now if you don't mind…"

"Oh right, yeah," Van Pelt replied, waving the file in her direction. "I'm on it, boss."

"Good."

xxx

At approximately five p.m., there was a knock on her office door. Lisbon was pleasantly surprised to have had most of the afternoon to herself, instead of regular disturbances from a certain Patrick Jane. Van Pelt had dropped by a second time, informing her that she had gotten an ID for Alyson's stalker and probable murderer. A Nate Reilly, apparently. As she had suspected, the case was gathering momentum. It was nice, to land a nice and easy one, every so often. Of course, she never dared to vocalize the fact; she didn't want to jinx the good fortune. She was even more shocked when she realized that it was Jane himself at his door. It seemed like he actually wanted to prove he had decent manners, for a change.

"Yes, Jane?"

He handed a white envelope to her. Dubiously, she took hold of it and ripped it open. When she slid out two tickets for the touring production of Wicked, for the performances in Sacramento, that very evening, her heart sank. She had already told him she had absolutely no interest whatsoever in going. Lisbon wasn't even that surprised, really. Jane simply couldn't take no for an answer. Still, she handed them back and shook her head sadly.

"I _can't_ accept these_."_

She tried to hand them back, but Jane held up his arms in protest. With a sigh, she placed them in front of her on her desk instead. It almost felt as if the tickets were staring at her, which was ridiculous considering they were an inanimate object.

"There's nothing going on with the case, not until morning, that is. Even you can spare a couple of hours, to do something social," he pleaded.

"Jane…"

"Just come with me, please?"

She averted her gaze, quickly. He sounded so genuine, especially for Jane. But the thought of the theater alone made her feel a little queasy. All she could do was think about her mother's excitement before a show.

"Don't you think your mom would be disappointed that you gave up something you so obviously loved when you were a kid?"

"That's…" she started, but quickly trailed off.

Instead of chastising him for his lack of boundaries and consideration, she thought about it. How her mom wasn't the only one who had enjoyed the shows they'd seen together, even if it was only for a brief while. Her mom had first taken her to a theater on her tenth birthday, when she had matured enough to sit through a two hour production without fidgeting. And she remembered how they dressed up before each show, how the anticipation weeks beforehand gnawed away at her. The warmth of her mother's hand as they sat side by side, engrossed in whatever production they were seeing.

He was right, in a way, she did miss it. And she had been avoiding it, simply because she didn't know who to ask to go with her. Though some people seemed to be more than happy to see shows alone, Lisbon simply couldn't imagine going without somebody else.

"Would I have to dress up?" she asked quietly.

"Well, shouldn't a girl who's so good inside, have a matching exterior?" he said, almost singing the line as he did so.

"Jane!"

"No, you'll be fine in your work clothes. Maybe leave the gun here, though."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. As if she hadn't realized that herself.

"And you'll be on your best behavior?" she questioned.

"When am I not?"

She raised an eyebrow in response.

"Contrary to popular belief, my dear Lisbon, I do know how to behave," Jane replied, "and I'd quite like to enjoy the show myself."

"Okay then," she relented. It was easier to just give in. Knowing Jane, he'd probably have tried some other trick to convince her anyway.

"Okay?"

"Fine. I'll see this damn show with you."

xxx

"This wasn't a good idea," Lisbon spoke quietly, staring at the stage. "It feels… wrong."

"You'll be fine," Jane assured her, knowing that she was struggling with conflicting thoughts and memories. "Together, we're unlimited."

She had the time to slap him gently on the arm in irritation, just before the lights went down in the auditorium.

xxx

"So, what did you think?" Jane asked as soon as they made it back to the foyer, post show, but Lisbon remained silent. "Lisbon?"

She wasn't even looking at him. Instead, her eyes were fixated on a member of the crowd. Jane looked at the man she was staring at and then it dawned on him. Van Pelt had shown him a picture of this man just hours earlier – it was Nate Reilly, the man that they were trying to track down. That was a rather serendipitous coincidence.

"Lisbon…" he started once more, but she had already taken off.

It didn't take long for Reilly to realize that somebody was on his tail and much to the disgust of the rest of the audience, he tried to make a run for it, knocking people out of his way. Lisbon was unperturbed by the crowd; she had long since grown used to making chase in busy scenarios. It made things difficult, of course, but not impossible. With practiced ease, she wove through the crowds and it wasn't long before she had the man pinned to a wall and was handcuffing him. Reilly seemed most unimpressed that he had been taken down by a woman practically half his size, and was mouthing off. Lisbon didn't care; she was just relieved she had decided to bring her handcuffs, even if she had had to forgo the gun. She _knew_ there was a reason that she had thought she'd need them and was glad to be proven right. Keeping one arm firmly on Reilly, she dialed Cho's number with the other. Technically, she was off-duty, but she knew her second in command would be more than happy to pick their suspect up and question him.

"Oh, you just can't keep away from work, can you?" Jane grumbled after he caught up with her, clutching at his stomach. He had a stitch. "I hope you're happy."

Lisbon simply smirked in response.

xxx

"Thank you, Jane," Lisbon muttered quietly.

"I didn't hear that."

"I said, thank you," she replied grudgingly.

"I knew you'd enjoy it," he said, as he rolled onto the back of his heels. "And you even got to do some work, too!"

Lisbon didn't even bother to answer him as they watched Cho pull away, with their suspect in the back of the SUV. When she had reluctantly accepted Jane's offer, she hadn't envisaged that it would help them to get a lead in their case. Silently, she wondered if Jane actually knew that Reilly would be there. Then, she dismissed it. If he had known, then he would have used it as a bargaining chip to persuade her to come. It would have been a lot easier than his pulling at her heartstrings, after all.

When Jane slipped his hand into her own, Lisbon didn't object. For some reason, it felt almost right to do so. Silently, he guided her towards his car. Part of her wondered how the hell the Citroen was still road-worthy, but she didn't question it. Though it had taken a long while, she did actually trust Jane, with her life even. After all, he had saved her on more than one occasion and she was genuinely grateful to have him in her life. Not that she would dare tell him mind, for fear of inflating his already oversized ego.

"You know what, Lisbon?" Jane said, with a light smile. "Because I knew you, I have been changed for good."

"Sometimes, I do wonder if you've actually changed at all."

"Hey!"

"And don't you dare carry on quoting Wicked at me. I get it; it's an excellent production, okay?"

end


	30. Hate

**A/N: **Been a while since I last wrote a oneshot!

Thank you to: Wldwmn, watchyouwalk, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, Brown Eyes Parker, Divinia Serit, colours and carousels, xJadeWEAPON and J Judit J for reviewing _Road of Good Intentions_. It means a lot to me!

This one was written as part of an angst-off with Miss Peg. So the question this time around is, 'is this angsty enough?'

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Salvation  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** Lisbon hates handcuffs.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for um, myself, as a part of the Paint It Red ficathon 2012. Also for Miss Peg, as I started this in an angst-off with her, but wanted to spend some more time finishing it off.

**Salvation**

"She has no idea. The effect she can have."  
- Peeta Mellark, _The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins_

The handcuffs feel too tight around her wrists. She winces as she tries to maneuver her hands into a somewhat more comfortable position, but it's no good. Lisbon can feel her hands growing numb as the blood supply has been seriously diminished to her extremities.

She hates handcuffs.

No, that's not quite right. They serve a perfectly adequate purpose, especially in her line of work. She merely hates them being used on _her_. Not that anyone else has ever had the audacity to try cuffing her before now. Normally, she's the one in control, after all.

Soft fingertips graze against her cheekbones and she freezes instantaneously. The last person to touch her like that was Jane, with his calloused fingers, but they were no less careful and tender than the ones being applied now. That's the most disconcerting thing about this, the tenderness she's being displayed.

And worse, she knows the identity of the one doing this to her.

She's bled more times than she cares to think of in the past forty-eight hours and she dreads the concept of actually looking at her injuries, never mind caring to list each and every one of them. Her line of work is dangerous, but even so, this is one of those situations she had always turned a blind eye to, had always promised wouldn't happen to her.

But it has. It _is_.

All because she had willingly painted that target on her back with a little more luminosity that it had previously had.

Worse, she knows exactly whose signature is painted grotesquely above her head in her own blood. Her captor had told her exactly what he'd been doing as he'd done so.

She knows the affect it will have on people. And on one specific person, especially.

Lisbon blinks several times, the corners of her eyes stinging at the thought of Jane. She can't show any signs of weakness. No, she won't give him the intense pleasure of breaking her before she…

Before…

If _he_ hadn't have been there, she would have shaken her head defiantly. Because she's not going to die in this dingy basement (or so she assumes, for she hasn't seen the light of day for what feels like forever; only in the semi-darkness of this cramped room). Her team will pick up the clues and follow the trail to her. They'll rescue her in the nick of time.

Or failing that, she'll somehow, somehow manage to pick these handcuffs and free herself. Goodness knows she's seen Jane do it often enough. Maybe she should have forced him to teach her the trick and then she wouldn't have been struggling hopelessly now?

"You look troubled, Teresa."

His voice is light and airy. It sends shudders reverberating down her spine. Lisbon cannot help but associate revulsion with every single thing that he does. Then again, that's only natural. He's slowly stripping her of everything that's important to her and she knows it's intentional. Not only is he aiming to destroy her, but to destroy Jane as a consequence of his actions.

"I do not _like_ to see you looking so troubled, Teresa," he repeats.

She hates the way he uses her given name, the way it rolls off of his tongue so effortlessly. That's something else he's stolen from her, the title she chooses to be referred to as, the son of a bitch. His timbre, his tonality with her name sounds so like Jane's, and yet the tongue is foreign and she hates it. The tenderness in his voice, the yearning and hope imbued in it every time he says it. It's so like Jane and that's what scares her.

He wants to make a possession out of her before he strips her of the last thing that's important to her: her life.

"Bite me," she growls.

It scares her just how hoarse her throat sounds; it's an indication of just how little she's had to drink over the past couple of days. Just a few sips every couple of hours, nothing more and nothing less. He supplies her with just enough to keep her alive, but not enough to stop her mind from slowly questioning what's real and what's not.

When she feels the graze of his teeth against her earlobe, after a muttered 'as you wish,' and she gasps ever so slightly in response, Lisbon realizes, much to her irritation that this, unfortunately is very real.

He doesn't stop with the bite, however. His hands stroke down her bare arms, soothing the gooseflesh that his formed in the cool breeze. She hates the effect he's having on her body; it's almost as if he can play her like a musical instrument. But that doesn't mean she's going to give in, nor does it mean she's going to submit to him willingly. As far as she's concerned, he's not going to strip her of herself before she dies. Lisbon is determined that_ if_ she dies, then she's going down in flames.

"I've brought somebody to see you."

Lisbon frowns slightly; she only heard one set of footsteps coming down into the basement where she's being held captive. It's at that moment which her captor flicks on the light switch. She finds herself blinded briefly and it takes her at least half a minute to adjust to the brightness. When she can finally see, the first thing she notices is the blood red smiley face on the wall opposite her. Reluctantly, she drags her eyes down and there she sees Patrick Jane, shackled to the wall, just like she is.

"Patrick!" she yelps, out of sheer shock.

He shakes his head ever so slightly; the movement is barely perceptible, but enough for her to clamp her mouth shut. It's also enough to make her feel just a little bit relieved. Jane's well enough to move; that's better than it could have been, though she wishes desperately that he wasn't her so-called visitor. She watches as their captor – unmasked, much to her horror – begins to move his way towards the door. With his hand resting on the doorknob, he turns to offer her a smile.

"I'll leave the two of you to get reacquainted."

Silently, she listens as the footsteps grow increasingly quiet and waits until she's convinced he's out of earshot. Then, she scans the immediate vicinity, checking for cameras, microphones or the like. Lisbon knows there is still the chance for hidden bugs, but she's willing to take the risk. She needs to hear Jane speak, just to confirm that he's okay. That would be enough.

"Patrick," she mutters quietly, but he doesn't respond. "Patrick."

There's another pause and Lisbon's concern for him multiplies tenfold once more. If he's having difficulty concentrating, then it means something bad has already happened to him. Just because she couldn't see any cuts and bruises, it didn't mean he'd been transported here without having a finger laid upon him.

"Jane!"

"He loves you, you know."

"What?" she answers, balking slightly. She hadn't expected him to say _that_, of all things.

"He does. Otherwise, you'd already be dead."

Her frown deepens. For some reason, she hadn't questioned her survival thus far. All she had considered was that it was somehow to torture Jane more. The fact that he could have actually fallen in love with her hadn't even crossed her mind. Why would it? It seems so inconceivable that a serial killer, someone so merciless, could think of a woman in such a way.

"Oh yeah, and what about you?" she snaps back automatically. "Why are _you_ still alive?"

"Sweetheart…"

"Don't 'sweetheart' me. Not here, not now."

"Are you okay?" he asks, immediately changing the subject.

"Just peachy," she replies through gritted teeth.

"Liar."

"Well what did you expect me to say?"

"You need medical attention."

"So do you! And how do you propose we get it?"

"There's only one way…"

She shakes her head. Jane hasn't even said what his plan is and yet, she already doesn't like where it's going. Just from the look in his eyes, she can tell that he already knows just how much she won't approve of it. However, it isn't just her life at stake now. It's his. And she loves Jane so much, she always has and always will. The last thing she wants is for him to get hurt.

And she's known for a long while that her feelings are entirely mutual. After all, he has even agreed to try and capture the man who killed his first family her way. Not that that has been particularly effective.

"You need to convince him that you love him too."

end


	31. Embarrassed

**A/N: **So, I was never entirely happy with the ending of _Circles_. I always wanted to write what happened 'after', and here it is. Sorry it's taken me a little while to write this, but I had to get my head around it.

Anyway, thank you to: TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, Mentalistfan123, Wldwmn, MerriWyllow, vanrigsby, xanderseye, Iloveplotbunnies, watchyouwalk, xJadeWEAPONx and SharpestSatire for reviewing _Salvation_. My plot bunnies and I always appreciate the feedback.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Joining The Dots  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** Lisbon cannot help but think she's made things worse.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes: ***Sequel to 50 Ways to Feel ch28: Circles.* Written for watchyouwalk as a part of the Paint It Red ficathon 2012. (prompt below)

**Joining The Dots**

_Tryin' to live and love_  
_With a heart that can't be broken_  
_Is like tryin' to see the light_  
_With eyes that can't be opened  
- Glass by Thompson Square _

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Why the hell had she said that? Things were going absolutely fine between them, so why did she feel the urge to rock the boat? She didn't really need any more than she already had, did she?

She slides down the door and wraps her arms tightly around her legs. This is the exact position she used to take time and time again as a child. Whenever her father went on a vicious rampage, she'd wrapped herself up in a ball and planted herself by the bedroom door, as if that would protect herself and her brothers from harm.

Even now, there's still something comforting about sitting like this. Though, this time the threat is purely psychological; she knows Jane would never dare lay a finger on her.

Her body shudders uncontrollably, though she knows, deep down, that his reaction was hardly a shock. Lisbon cannot let herself cry; she refuses point blank to give him that victory, though it's hardly a victory at all. The dinner had been his way of distracting her from the case, of trying to make her feel better. Instead, she has just succeeded in making herself feel all the worse.

She wishes she could rewind the clock, take back what she said, but that's impossible.

It's not even possible for her to blame it on the wine. Despite her lithe form, she could hold more than just two drinks. And besides, even that wouldn't have been a particularly good idea. Alcohol loosens the tongue; makes people more inclined to speak the truth, so she couldn't have even said she was lying then. Jane's mind is like a mighty fortress; she knows he isn't going to forget this in a hurry.

However, she cannot help but wonder why he had practically tripped over his feet to get out of her home. He hadn't even been able to give her a straight answer. That was something incredibly rare for a man who was so sure when it came to words and phrasing. The number of times he'd taken down a suspect with just a little bit of wordplay was simply astonishing. Then again, this situation is entirely different to work. It's touching upon emotions, things that she knows he's too scared to truly acknowledge.

But she's sick and tired of going around in circles. Fed up of thinking one thing and then being shown another. Just when she thinks she's beginning to truly understand Patrick Jane, he throws her a curveball. Really, all she wants is to know where she stands.

Then, she can either move on and put all of this in the past, or…

Or…

That's something which she's barely dared think about in the past. She doesn't even know why it's teasing her right now. Lisbon partially blames it on the case; being accused of not doing her job properly always shakes her up. The rest of the team never dare to approach her when she's in one of those moods. Jane's the only one with the confidence to actually deal with her when she's having a crisis of confidence.

And that's half the reason she's convinced she needs him as much as he does her.

When she finally makes it to bed, she sleeps as badly as she expects. The grieving father's words still taunt her; she doesn't know if Wainwright has managed to brush aside his complaints just yet. Lisbon doesn't even know if it'll be a matter for the PSU to decide upon. The fact that she hasn't been suspended isn't even enough to provide a small mercy. Mostly because Lisbon feels like she's completely screwed things up with Jane, just because she isn't happy to keep going the way that they are.

Come morning, she's practically dreading going back to work.

Still, she forces herself to maintain her professionalism and dignity. It's the least she can do, as the lead agent. People expect things of her; she's not allowed to get fazed by small details. Otherwise, she really will fail at doing her job properly and that will never do.

The bullpen is quiet by the time she reaches the CBI headquarters and she's relieved. It means she can slip into her office unnoticed and continue where she left off with work. She can get back to where she was before the humiliation of the night before.

Checking her e-mails provides her with a modicum of relief, if nothing else. Wainwright has already confirmed that the man has no case against her, that he's confident she did everything to the best of her ability. Of course, there will still be an inquiry into it, just to be sure, but her supervisor assures her that her job is safe. However, his kind words offer little comfort. Lisbon knows that she'll only begin to breathe a little easier once the whole issue has been cast aside and that won't happen for a good few months. She still isn't in the habit of entirely trusting Wainwright, after all. Though he has youthful enthusiasm on his side, he doesn't have the years of experience and expertise behind him, unlike Hightower and Minelli.

She's only interrupted by Rigsby, Van Pelt and Cho, each looking for instructions on how to spend the day. Though they have a couple of open cases, there's nothing of the utmost urgency to drive the team forward. Lisbon is more than happy to give them the marginally more interesting tasks for a change, and simply stay office-bound herself. Part of her isn't certain she has the energy for much more.

Lisbon barely notices the passage of time, but she does notice the conspicuous absence of a certain Patrick Jane.

That is, until lunchtime, when he finally decides to make his entry.

"Teresa," his voice is soft, lilting.

She ignores it; she's been hurt too much lately. And besides, though it may be slightly cruel, she needs to hear the yearning in his voice. Jane's a stubborn man; if he really wants to speak to her, he won't give up.

And anyway, it's the use of her forename that has really shaken her. Though he does use it from time to time, it's not something he really bothers with in the office. Lisbon senses that if he needs her for a work issue, he'd have just relied upon company protocol. Though she hasn't been blessed with the same abilities as him, she is still intuitive. Years working as a cop have honed some not too dissimilar skills in her, too. Besides, she's been learning about how to read people from the master himself.

It's a fact that neither of them can deny.

"Teresa," he repeats, with the sense of urgency she's been waiting for.

"Yes, Jane?" she says, her voice already weary.

"You have no need to be ashamed of yourself," Jane states and she feigns ambivalence at his statement. "And there's no need for you to avoid me."

"I'm not avoiding you," she answers back, though she knows he speaks the truth.

Jane usually visits her first thing in the morning, with a coffee in hand. However, it's now obvious to her that he's been holding back as much as she has the morning. She's been pretending to be busy, explicitly working on tasks that she's been putting off in order to avoid leaving the office. When she asked Cho to go out and talk to the family on one of their ongoing cases, she'd even asked him to take Jane.

Obviously, one of the two ignored that instruction (though she suspects it's more likely to be Jane than her second) and it annoys her, if only a little. She gives people orders for a reason, though certain people seem to think that it's more optional. Even so, she knows that the only reason she'd wanted Jane out of the office was to get him away from her.

And he'd seen straight through that. Waited until Rigsby and Van Pelt had both left to get lunch before he decided to approach her for this conversation. She wishes she could be more angry with him, but in one sense, she's relieved.

At least nobody can interrupt them or overhear.

"I'm not on the same page as you, yet," he says.

"But?" she asks, hopefully, ignoring the strangling desperation in her own tones.

"I will be."

She nods. Jane must know just how much his words are breaking her. Lisbon knows they're meant to be offering her hope of some sort of a future, but it just doesn't necessarily work that way. Instead, it just feels like a stab in the gut, for some awful reason.

"Soon," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

A wan smile traces across her lips unwittingly, one which he immediately returns before standing and heading out of her office. Lisbon, meanwhile, buries her head in her hands, as if that will protect her from the outside world. If nothing else, it provides her with a mask for her emotions, not that she's one to cry, especially not over something as mundane as this.

"I hope so," she whispers.


	32. Miserable

**A/N: **Long time since I last updated this collection! However, having lil smiles here and doing a word war but not with her encouraged me to get this done. So yes. It's written for the Paint It Red ficathon and as a consequence, is dedicated to Lothiriel84. Hope you enjoy it!

Thank you to: J Judit J, MerriWyllow, Wldwmn, mentalistfan123, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, SharpestSatire and watchyouwalk for reviewing Joining The Dots.

Would love to know what you think of this one, I quite enjoyed writing it, but I don't know if that's entirely down to lil smiles being here or what.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Storm in a Teacup  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** Jane receives some bad news. Lisbon tries to comfort him.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for Lothiriel84 as a part of the Paint It Red ficathon 2012.

**Storm in a Teacup**

Jane laid on his battered leather couch, staring intently at the ceiling, at Elvis, with his hands clasped over an innocuous piece of paper. Thus far, only Van Pelt had had the courage to ask him what was wrong, but he had ignored her and she'd promptly disappeared. Good, he'd decided. This was his burden to bear, another name for him to add to that ever-growing list of people whose deaths he was at least partially responsible for.

Two nights ago, Kristina Frye had taken her own life. She'd committed suicide under the care of people who'd supposedly been looking after her every need. And through the CBI's particularly slow mailing service, he'd only just found out.

Jane just didn't know what to think.

He felt guilt; that much was obvious. If Kristina had never met him, then she wouldn't have become embroiled in the Red John case. Disappointment? That too. Despite his very obvious aversion to psychiatrists of any kind, Jane had somehow managed to keep in contact with Kristina's. He felt he'd owed it to her, to at least pay an interest in her recovery. After all, he'd been incredibly fond? Yes, fond, of her once. And things could have, theoretically gone somewhere between them were it not for  
the mild inconveniences of Red John and her insistence that she had supernatural powers.

The last time he'd heard from the shrink, he had mentioned an improvement. That Kristina was slowly beginning to have an increased awareness of her surroundings. She was beginning to disbelieve the supposed evidence that she was dead.

As a friend of hers, Jane had been thrilled at the news. And as she had been one of painfully few witnesses of Red John's who remained alive (though she believed otherwise), he had been cautiously optimistic. If she was regaining her sanity, that meant she could provide them with key evidence that could have resulted in Red John being stopped, one way or another. But apparently, according to his paltry letter, she had been unable to cope with what she could already remember and had chosen to end it all for good.

But now, that small shred of hope had been cruelly snatched from his clutches. All he was left with was an all too familiar sense of desolation.

And intrigue. What of the shrink had been lying? What if Kristina's apparent suicide had been staged? What if she had really been murdered because of _what_ she knew? If these details had been slipped out, then Red John would have known she was a risk. Jane sincerely doubted he was the only one who had kept a close eye on the woman who claimed to be a psychic.

The patter of footsteps and hushed whispers echoed around him. Jane zoned out; he simply couldn't be bothered to listen to anything that was going on around him. Nothing was relevant to his current thought processes; it wasn't as if Lisbon was briefing the team on some case or another and looking for his illuminating insight. And even if she was, he sincerely doubted he would care either. This situation he'd just found himself in had opened a whole load of old wounds, ones which he had believed he'd at least buried deeply, if nothing else.

He scrunched his eyes tightly shut and tried to ignore the oncoming headache too, but that was less successful than his blocking out of the general office hubbub. Still, Jane wasn't willing to move and he wasn't going to allow himself the luxury of painkillers either. Right now, he didn't believe he deserved anything less. However, after a few seconds, he realized that somebody – Lisbon, he immediately decided, he could just _tell _– was standing beside him, staring down at him. She was probably frowning a little, trying to decide whether to disturb him gently or resort to violence. He remained stock still, hoping that she would believe he was in a deep sleep and didn't deserve to be woken up.

"Jane," she said softly; no such luck. "I've brought you tea."

Immediately his eyes sprang open and he let out a wan smile when he spotted his favorite tea cup in her hands. Carefully, he maneuvered himself into a seated position and patted the space beside him. She didn't accept; clearly she was innately aware of the fact they had a bit of an audience. Van Pelt, at least, had stopped working and was watching them curiously. Instead, Lisbon merely handed him the drink and stuffed her hands awkwardly back in her pockets.

"Do I really seem so sad?"

"Yes, you do," she answered assertively. "Come on, it's not poisoned. And you do say tea solves everything."

"Almost everything," he corrected.

"Yeah."

Suspiciously, he inhaled the aroma and frowned slightly. Something about the tea felt a little off. Still, it was sweet of Lisbon to at least try and make him tea. Whenever he was in the office he was automatically fussy about the preparation. It was partially because he could be, but mostly because he wasn't scared of offending any of them. After all, he liked toying with them; it made his day to day existence that little bit more bearable. And besides, as far as he was concerned, it was a necessity that people knew how to make a good cup of tea.

Lisbon studied him as he scrutinized the drink. He could feel her gaze boring into him and he was glad that she hadn't bothered to ask what was wrong. Then again, she knew that he would talk to her when he was ready to do so. She knew it would just take a little time. He had nobody else he trusted, not like her at least. But first, he needed to process this blow before he let her into what was bothering him this time around.

Eventually, he took a sip and pulled a face. She had definitely committed a crime against teas in this case. As far as he was concerned, the beverage was undrinkable.

"What tea did you use?"

"Earl Grey, your favorite, right?" she replied, almost sounding hopeful.

"And you put _milk_ in it?" he answered back, aghast. "Don't you know the traditional way to serve Earl Grey is with lemon?"

She smirked and Jane stared at her. He watched as she nibbled her bottom lip and quickly averted her gaze. There were some definite signs of guilt. Obviously, she was more than aware of his tea preferences and just did it to get back at him for what? He'd behaved all day; just remained quietly on his couch, mulling over the letter on his lap. This had clearly been a ruse to get him to move, one way or another. And rather irritatingly, she'd succeeded. He could never resist the lure of tea.

"You did that on purpose," Jane stated.

"Or you could show me how to really make it?" she answered back, grinning.

"Meh, I don't need to. I know you already know how to do it."

"Oh really?" she quipped.

"Yes, really," he asserted. "And you're going to make me another one. Properly, this time."

"Only if you talk to me," she answered softly and he spotted Van Pelt smiling hopefully just behind her. This seemed like a plan they'd cooked up between them. "Please?"

He stroked the letter gently and looked at Lisbon searchingly, trying to decide whether or not it was worth it. Whether or not he was ready to talk about this situation.

Quickly, he pocketed the document and stood.

Yes, he decided it was. And besides, he really had to double check his hunch about whether or not she really knew about tea as he suspected she did.


	33. Cold

**A/N:** So, I've vaguely had this idea for this episode tag after 4x23, but only just got around to actually writing it. It's also for the Paint It Red ficathon, the prompt kindly supplied by ch19777, and a very belated entry for the Jello Forever October 2011 monthly challenge. But lil smiles says that okay. And she's sitting beside me right now anyway, so it's all good. We're also eating apple and blackcurrent pie with honeycomb ice cream.

Thank you to: MerriWyllow, lil smiles, SharpestSatire, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme, Wldwmn, Lothiriel84 and mentalistfan123 for reviewing Storm in a Teacup.

Now I'm going to finish my pie.

Oh and spoilers for 4x23. You have been warned.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Darling, Everything's on Fire  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** Lisbon hopes that her concerns are unwarranted. Episode Tag to 4x23 Red Rover, Red Rover  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for ch19777 for the Paint It Red ficathon. Prompt: purgatory. Also for the Jello Forever monthly challenge. Prompt: burning down in flames.

**Darling, Everything's on Fire**

"Where's Jane?"

Van Pelt asks quietly and there's a slight note of concern laced in her words. With a sigh, Lisbon sits on Jane's couch almost automatically. The others look at her, scandalized. They don't realize that Jane invites her to share it with him on very rare occasions. Promptly, she stands up, wishing she knew what to do with herself. She knows what the problem is. For years, she's feared this might happen - that Jane might actually snap or something. For as long as she's worked with him, she's been trying to help keep him on an even keel. Now, she feels an utter sense of loss and failure.

And she's more than a little terrified about what he's going to do next.

In a way, it's a blessed relief that the team appears to feel the exact same way. At least she knows that she's not overreacting, being overprotective of him like she is her brothers. Even so, it doesn't rid her of the knots in her stomach, the ones questioning what he's going to do next. The fact that she knows he's suffered from a breakdown once means the warning bells are ringing loudly. Lisbon has seen this too many times before in the past to _not_ be worried.

All she can do is hope that those fears are not fulfilled.

The others are looking at her expectantly. It's only then that Lisbon realizes that she's been standing beside the couch, with her hands stuffed in her pockets, in silence, for far too long. She shakes her head abruptly and looks at each and every one of them.

"He's gone home."

"Is he okay?" Van Pelt persists and the guys nod in agreement.

What can she say? It's times like this when she realizes just how little she knows about Jane. As close as they are and as they have been, he is still very much a man of mystery. He keeps his cards held firmly to his chest whereas she, she's simply an open book to him. However, she also knows she cannot lie to them, not to her team. Lisbon means it when she says they're pretty much her family. There's a reason that each and every one of them has stuck around for so long and that's because they work so well together. Eventually, one of them will be given an offer that's too good to refuse and move onto pastures new, but in the meantime, they're quite happy in their own little bubble.

Or at least, they will be, provided Jane doesn't do anything stupid. Wainwright may have fired him, but that doesn't stop any of them from believing he's one of their own. Between them, they'll find a way to fix this. Once Wainwright has calmed and Jane has sorted out the current mess inside his head.

"I don't know," she answers honestly. "I'm going to see him after work."

"Good," Cho states bluntly, saying it for all three of them.

Lisbon excuses herself; lets them compose themselves and at least try and get on with their work. There's no rest for the wicked. Besides, there's nothing else she can say or do. Not until she's seen Jane again at the very least.

xxx

The drive over to Jane's place is anxious. Lisbon can count the number of times she's been over on one hand, but this is the first time she's dropped by without being explicitly invited. The words 'you're sweet' ring in her head incessantly; they're not an acceptance, but then again, they're not forbidding her from turning up either. Even so, her nerves are on edge. Not because of what she fears Jane might say or do when she turns up, but for what she might find.

The lights are on when she arrives. However, Lisbon is a seasoned professional; she knows this means nothing. With apprehension, she walks up the staircase, noticing each and every creak. This isn't the place where his family died; Lisbon's thankful for that. However, it doesn't stop it from being the depressing hole that Jane has ensconced himself in since their passing. Nine years, she thinks. It's been too long. He needs closure; he may have said that he's giving up, but that doesn't mean he's actually achieved what he so obviously requires.

She steels herself as she ascends the final flight of stairs.

And when she finally spots his door, slightly ajar, her heart painfully stops for half a second. Then, she shudders; feeling cold, or like somebody has just walked over her grave.

Immediately after, her hand flies to her hip and she rests it on her trusted Glock 9mm. Offering a silent prayer that she won't need to use it, Lisbon creeps forward. In a way, she almost feels as though she's breaking and entering. She feels like she's as unwelcome here as she is in Jane's family home, or, at the very least, completely out of place. But she knows what she's doing; these are suspicious circumstances. All she is doing is checking out a potential crime scene.

As she nudges the door open, she draws the gun. Hoping for the best, but fearing the worst, she creeps into Jane's current home. The light floods out quickly, but Lisbon's eyes scan the room, looking for anything that would be out of place. She heads to the bathroom and finds nothing.

Jane isn't there, but then again, neither are his belongings.

It's only then that her brain makes the connections. There is something there which is seriously out of place.

Realizing that she is alone, she places her weapon back in its holder and takes a nervous few steps forwards.

It isn't as well defined as previous ones, there's something rushed and messy about it. The placement of it seems more like an afterthought than a clear, coherent decision. Like the person who painted it was in a rush and didn't have much practice at it, either.

And – mercifully – the dead body is not present underneath Red John's trademark calling card.

Which begs the question – did Jane do this himself before disappearing, or is Red John or one of his acolytes responsible?

And all she can do is wonder: will this hell never end?


	34. Aggressive

**A/N: **Long time, no update for this collection. I still want to finish it though, especially as I don't have that far to go, comparatively speaking.

Thank you to Lothlorien Aeterna, lil smiles, Wldwmn, cherryblossomcanopy and mentalistfan123 for reviewing _Darling, Everything's On Fire_.

This fic was written for Iloveplotbunnies aka sirenofodysseus. She said she liked angst, so my bunnies went mad. And when I say it's dark, I mean it. Consider that a warning.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Kith & Kin  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Lisbon, Jane, Red John  
**Summary:** Death, after all, stalked her in every single aspect of her life. Dark AU fic.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Warnings:** DARK as midnight on a moonless night. If that is not your cup of tea, do not read any further.  
**Notes: **Written for Iloveplotbunnies/sirenofodysseus - happy birthday.

**Kith & Kin**

She woke suddenly.

There was a distinct tang of iron – no, blood – in the air and she shuddered. Blinking furiously, she carefully sat up as the world around her came into focus.

Blood.

Everywhere.

Glancing at her hands, she slowly flexed her fingers as the sticky liquid coated them. For half a second she was entranced by it. The swirling shades from deep burgundy to bright crimson, there was nothing else like it. Then, she saw beyond her fingertips and to the dead body lying prone in front of her. Instinct told her to scream bloody murder, but she swallowed it down. She always swallowed it down.

This wasn't the first time she had seen a dead body and she already knew that it wouldn't be the last.

Death, after all, stalked her in every single aspect of her life.

Slowly, she shifted herself towards the deceased to give it a closer inspection. If nothing else, she was thoroughly intrigued. The woman was young, blonde and prior to her untimely demise, she'd had her whole life in front of her. And, she lay stiff as a board, having been butchered and torn to shreds by some monster.

Automatically, she glanced upwards at the wall above the bed.

No, not some monster.

Red John.

The infamous serial killer who saw no mercy.

He killed like it was some sort of a sport. Or an art form, even.

He was the master manipulator. The purveyor of the base human emotion: fear.

Warily, she stood, thoroughly relieved that her legs held steady. Then, she took three steps backwards before turning and running away.

One question posed in the forefront of her mind: why had this vaguely familiar woman been murdered and she had been spared?

xxx

Come morning, Teresa Lisbon woke to a blinding headache and the sound of her cell phone ringing. Swallowing down a growl, Lisbon answered the call with a hoarse voice. Still, it needed to be done. If Director Bertram was calling her personally, then she knew it couldn't wait. Any illness, any migraine she was suffering with would have to be shelved until later.

Like always, Bertram was direct to the point. 'It's Red John,' he'd stated, with a hint of sadness in his voice. 'Your presence is required. Bring Jane.'

Jane.

As if she would even attempt to leave him out of this. Though she tried to deny it, Lisbon knew that Red John was his baby. It always had been; nothing would change about that until the serial killer was apprehended (or killed.) And right now, Lisbon knew that she would have been more than happy to take either solution.

Still she agreed to Bertram's requests, despite the fact it was a non-issue. Instead, she quickly noted down the details she required. The location of this latest murder was just half an hour away. Lisbon shuddered. Sometimes, it felt like Red John was getting closer and closer. He was practically breathing down their necks.

And worse: they were happening with an increasing regularity.

xxx

Jane was in a somber mood when she picked him up. That was hardly surprising; she had been brutally honest with him from the offset. With Jane, there was little point in being anything but. He could see through practically any lie she could care to imagine.

But even Jane wasn't completely infallible.

The journey over to the crime scene felt painfully slow. Miles dragged on, just as the silence that had enveloped them from the moment that the 'hello' she would have uttered died on her lips. There was no logical reason for time to distort in such a way. The roads were still clear; the early morning rush hour traffic had yet to emerge.

Except, there was still one less than logical reason for it: dread.

Dread of what she would discover when she got there. Dread of how close Red John could be as a consequence. Dread of what kind of effect that this would inevitably have on Patrick Jane.

The area had already been cordoned off and the coroner had already arrived by the time they eventually reached their destination. Instinctively, Lisbon hopped over the yellow tape and flashed her badge at the local LEO. The poor man looked as though he was merely loitering and was clearly out of his depth. Without a word, he let her straight through.

The front door had been left ajar and she nudged it open. Jane was on her heels, but neither of them said a word. What could she say to him, anyway? I'm sorry, I understand, I know? Some things were best left unsaid.

When she was finally in the master bedroom, staring at the dead body, Lisbon could only think of one thing: 'it's not déjà vu, but I'm sure, I've been here before.'

xxx

The words were blurring together on her computer screen.

That was hardly surprising; she was running on empty, after all. However, as far as Lisbon was concerned, that was no excuse. Everyone was working tirelessly hard and she was no exception. They had all been stretched to their wit's end and naturally, she had to continue leading by example.

It didn't make it any less difficult, however.

The migraine that had made itself known in the early hours of the morning was back in full force. She blinked one, two, three times, in attempt to rid herself of the aura, but it was to no avail. Everything that was written on the screen was a wordless jumble.

'_Take the cell phone out of your desk,'_ a voice mumbled through the haze, startling her.

Warily, Lisbon glanced over her shoulder. Nobody was there. Frowning, she ignored the instruction and continued to type. The honeyed tones, male, if she wasn't mistaken, repeated themselves, more urgently this time. Lisbon's frown simply deepened as she continued with her assigned task.

'_Now, I said,"_ he (or, so she assumed) eventually demanded.

"Why?" she asked; half of her was wondering if she really wanted a response.

'_It's a matter of life or death?'_ the voice countered.

"Is it?" Of course, she had to question. It was practically in her job description to do so.

'_Can't you feel the gun in the small of your back?'_

She froze. There it was - the cool circular sensation of the barrel of a gun. Lisbon went to look over her shoulder, but the voice told her otherwise. With a swift motion, she drew the device slowly out and began to type out the message. As she pressed send, she felt cold, empty. Slowly, she placed the cell phone back in her drawer beside the tequila bottle.

'_Go to sleep now, Agent Lisbon,'_ the voice soothed. _'You've done a good job.'_

Reluctantly, she followed instructions. She was sound asleep before her head hit her desk.

xxx

When she woke, the pounding in her temples had yet to disappear.

Lisbon glanced nervously at the clock and wondered where the past five hours had gone to.

Then, she questioned why nobody had dared to disturb her.

The fact that she couldn't even remember what she was doing prior to sleeping unnerved her further.

Still, there was nothing she could do about that. It was probably just the fact she had overworked and was overtired. These things could be rectified later. She couldn't change the past, however much she wished that she could.

Instead, for now, it was time to go home.

There was nothing productive that she could do on the case at three seventeen a.m. anyway.

xxx

She dreamed of blood.

Once upon a time, when she had been a small girl, they had scared her. Never had she told a soul about her nightly visions; if she dared to do so, then she would have been shipped from psychiatrist to shrink and back again as they tried to find a solution. After all, no young (and sane) young girl should have been haunted by the macabre.

Now, she's kind of used to it.

xxx

The hammering at her front door woke her with a start. Lisbon muttered incoherently and allowed her head to flop back into her pillows as it stopped. It was far too early and it seemed that the person had got the message.

Or, they had picked the lock and let themselves in.

And if it was the latter, then there was only one plausible person responsible: Jane.

She pulled on her bathrobe with a sigh before padding downstairs. When she saw him pouring out two cups of tea, she sighed. Normally, she would have lectured him on how breaking and entering was a felony. He'd make some blithe comment in return to justify his actions, and then they would return to normal. As a consequence, the words died on her lips and she thanked him for the tea. Her tea; he hadn't bothered to bring his own. Then again, she only really kept it in her cupboards for him anyway.

There had always been unwritten rules in their relationship and the presence of tea at all times was one of them.

They sat in a companionable silence; it unnerved her. This was completely disjointed to the urgency he had portrayed when he had tried to pummel her door down with just his fists. However, she didn't question it. Jane and weirdness went hand in hand. Instead, she waited until he felt the need to speak/

The words never came.

Instead, he pushed his cell phone forwards.

Wordlessly, she picked it up and read the message onscreen.

It was a threat from Red John. Of course it was; she surmised. What else was it ever going to be?

xxx

"The number has been cut off," Van Pelt confirmed dryly. "We can't trace it."

"Damn," Lisbon muttered under her breath.

She'd expected as much from the moment that Jane had showed her the text message. Red John would never have risked being caught over something as pointless as this. All he'd been doing was sticking the knife into Jane and twisting it a little bit further. The sadomasochist derived pleasure purely from taunting Jane, that much was obvious.

But why had he bothered to do it now? The case was still in the early stages. Though they had identified the victim – an Amber Matthews – they were yet to discover the reason Red John had chosen her as his latest victim.

Lisbon watched warily as Jane disappeared from the bullpen, presumably to his attic hideaway. She didn't bother to follow him; he needed the space to mull this over. They all did. Instead, she thanked Van Pelt for her tireless hard work, turned on her heels and headed towards her office.

If she could find out the reason that Amber had died, then maybe, it would give them a chance to get half a step closer to Red John.

xxx

All Lisbon could discover was that the girl happened to be the receptionist at a doctor's surgery.

Specifically, the doctor's surgery that she, herself, attended.

She sighed; she had thought the face had been fairly familiar.

xxx

'_Destroy Van Pelt's computer,'_ the voice crowed.

"Why would I want to do something like that?"

She hadn't expected to hear the man's voice again so soon and she was startled. Lisbon didn't bother even trying to look over her shoulder this time around; he had her well trained. However, she couldn't help but wonder why she was being stalked by him, why he enabled her (rare) violent tendencies.

Why he needed her to behave in such a way.

'_There's evidence on it,'_ he explained, with a tone that suggested his patience was quickly wearing thin. _'It ties you to me. Do you really want your position to be compromised? Does your job really mean so little to you?'_

The bullpen was empty by the time she plucked up the courage to walk through. Not even the cleaners were present, doing their nightly rounds. Lisbon breathed a sigh of relief; she was glad that she had chosen to give the rest of the team a much needed early night. Steeling herself, she closed her eyes tightly before she dared to push the computer off the desk.

She fainted before the device even crashed to the ground.

xxx

"It's just for observation, Lisbon. Stop complaining," Jane instructed as she grumbled irritably.

"I only fainted; I didn't need to be rushed to hospital."

"Hm," he said indistinctly and Lisbon rolled her eyes. He hadn't even bothered to honor her with an actual word in reply.

"There's nothing wrong with me."

"Let's let the doctors come to that conclusion, shall we?"

She rested her head back on the pillow and stared at the ceilings. Lisbon loathed hospitals with every fiber of her being. All too often, the doctors complained about her being difficult because she was a police officer, they were all like it. She never meant to behave like that; she just hated wasting medic's time over something as inconsequential as this. It would have been like some civilian giving her information about a case in good faith, but it turning out to be a red herring.

Jane soon disappeared, only to be replaced with a doctor with a kindly face. He probed her gently, but it felt wary, uncomfortable, even. What had she been doing before she fainted? No idea. Who was the last person she saw? She couldn't remember. Where had she been? Even that remained a mystery.

All she could recall was waking up in the hospital and wondering what the hell had happened.

Jane had already told her about the destroyed laptop, that they were dusting it for prints. She couldn't even recall if she had watched it being slammed to the ground, or if she had discovered it smashed to pieces before she collapsed. Everything about it had been completely blacked out.

Then again, blackouts weren't something she was unfamiliar with.

They had taunted her for much of her adult life.

Not that she had ever dared tell a soul, however.

xxx

She was sitting on her couch at home when Rigsby called by. Her boss had given her mandatory leave; it didn't matter that they were in the middle of an important case. They could manage without her. And besides, it was looking increasingly likely that Red John was going to slip through their fingers once again.

"There were no foreign fingerprints on the laptop, boss," Rigsby informed her over a mug of steaming hot coffee. "Just yours, Van Pelt's, Jane's and Ron's."

Lisbon nodded. They were all people likely to use that particular computer anyway. In a way, it was a relief. However, it was also frustrating. A dead end like that just brought everything back to a grinding halt. In spite of that, there was still the possibility that the perpetrator could have been found.

On camera.

"What about the surveillance cameras. Did they...?"

"Nothing," Rigsby interrupted; he'd expected this question. "Security had run out of blank tapes; they're getting more in stock tomorrow. They didn't think it would matter for twenty-four hours or so. The cameras alone are usually enough of a deterrent."

She scowled. Of course that was going to happen; of course the oversight was going to occur just when they needed it the most. Lisbon made a mental note to have a word with Hoffner, the head of security, the moment she was allowed back to work. There had been no need for them to run out of blank tapes; they should have kept on top of their orderings.

Instead of telling Rigsby this, she thanked him for letting her know and promptly let him out.

xxx

'_Patrick Jane is worried about you.'_

"I know."

'_The only person whose death will affect him as much as his wife is yours,'_ he continued softly.

"I know," she repeated.

'_There's a knife in the bottom drawer of your bedside cabinet. Use it.'_

"Are you really suggesting I commit suicide?"

'_It's either that, or I speed the process up. Your choice, Agent Lisbon,' _he stated impassively_._

Again, she could feel the presence of his gun in the center of her back. As she climbed upstairs, she stumbled over her own two feet. A tear threatened to emerge from the corner of her left eye, but she blinked it back. Instead, she began to recite the Hail Mary prayer, words she had always been familiar with. There had to be a way out of this, there had to.

When she located the knife, there was still blood congealed on the blade. Whose, she couldn't be sure. For now, she ignored it and continued to follow the man's instructions. Slowly, she drew the blade along the inside of her lower arm, just deep enough to allow pearls of blood to come to the surface. Then, she faced the wall directly opposite the bedroom door.

Carefully, she drew a large circle, followed by two small curved lines. A larger one quickly followed underneath, until a perfect smiley face leered back at her.

Drawn in her own blood.

'_Lay on your bed and roll up your shirt.'_

"I don't want to do this."

'_There's no other way. You're in too deep.'_

"But…" she protested.

'_Do it!'_

Eventually she did so. Almost as though she had no free will, she poised the knife above her own abdomen.

When the knife swiftly pierced the skin, she let out a pained scream of agony.

xxx

She didn't fall unconscious, but she came to her senses moments later.

The blood was seeping out of her and without having to think, she yanked off her shirt and bundled it up into some sort of a compress. It didn't help the pain, but it did stem the flow of blood.

Lisbon knew that she needed to move, to seek medical attention.

But she could also remember more, about how she had found herself in this situation.

There were voices in her head; there always had been. They made her do unspeakable things and promptly blanked them out afterwards.

And there was a reason she could never catch up with Red John.

There was a reason he was always two steps ahead, ran circles around the authorities. There was a reason he was far too clever by half and that she couldn't see into the web of lies and deceit that he had knitted.

How could she remember it, when she actively eradicated it from her memory banks?

Teresa Lisbon would never catch Red John. She'd never be able to arrest him, to put him on death row.

She _was _Red John.


	35. Bored

**A/N:** It was about time I flexed some of my other writing muscles and this was the result. Also? Some of the dialogue came to me when I was trying to sleep. Yes, fic is the kind of thing I end up thinking about when I really need to sleep...

Thank you to: Miss Peg, Lothlorien Aeterna, xXxStarGazerxXx, Iloveplotbunnies, Little-Firestar84, lolly2222 and MerriWyllow for reviewing Kith & Kin.

If you have an opinion on what makes a good fic, and would like to share your favourite stories, please check out the Fic Recommendations on Paint It Red and sign up to rec! Plugging time over. Now onto the fic...

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Hot, Strong and Bittersweet  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** All Lisbon wanted was a cup of coffee...  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes:** Set early season 4...

**Hot, Strong and Bittersweet**

It was a quiet day in the office; in fact, it had been quiet all week. Lisbon appreciated it when things were less hectic than usual. It meant that all was well with the world and people had taken a break from killing one another. Somebody wise had once said that it was a good thing when cops were bored and Lisbon wholeheartedly agreed. However, long spells working purely on paperwork led to lapses in concentration and that never helped.

And for Lisbon, the best thing to help avoid that is regular breaks for coffee. That was precisely how she managed to do the same arduous tasks for long periods of time. Besides, she had long since grown to love the drink and wouldn't want to do without it.

So, when she strolled into the kitchenette to discover an 'out of order' sign on the coffee machine, written in all too familiar handwriting, she was less than impressed. She was especially annoyed given the fact that nobody had bothered to inform her and instead, had waited for her to find out of her own accord. It was a matter of seconds before she stormed into the bullpen, folded her arms and demanded an answer to a very important question.

"Which one of you broke the coffee machine?"

"Wasn't me, boss," Van Pelt answered swiftly, with a frown painted on her features. "I only drink soy lattes from the coffee cart out front."

"Sarah made me cut out caffeine. I'm only drinking smoothies now."

The hint of lament in Rigsby's voice almost made Lisbon laugh. Only almost, because she still wanted to find out who the culprit was. In reality, she was already well aware who was responsible for the damage. However, she needed to confirm it and more importantly, she was looking for an apology. And preferably, a coffee from him as well. She really needed that coffee, damn it.

"Jane did it."

Cho didn't even bother to look up from his computer. Lisbon sighed; she'd had preferred it if he'd admitted to it himself, but figured that this was going to be the best she was going to get. Shaking her head slightly, she closed the distance between herself and the couch, where Jane was resting, like usual. With one swift motion, she unceremoniously kicked the piece of furniture to disturb him. She knew he wasn't sleeping; the smirk said more than she needed to know.

"Hey! I was-" he protested, but Lisbon quickly cut him off.

"Don't bother lying. I know you were just pretending to sleep."

"Then why did you bother to abuse my couch?"

"It's not your couch; it's CBI property."

Jane immediately sat up and started stroking the couch soothingly, as if he were trying to make it feel better. Lisbon scowled; she'd never understand the relationship between the man and his couch. Instead, she continued to glare at him irritably. She'd worked with him more than long enough to know that this was just one of his mind games. He was trying to deflect her attention from the task in hand: gathering information about the coffee machine. Of course, she wasn't going to fall for something like that. It just wasn't in her nature to, not any more.

"Don't listen to her," he said soothingly. "She doesn't mean it. She's just grumpy because the coffee machine reached the end of its natural lifespan."

"No it didn't; _you_ broke it."

"You have no evidence."

"Oh really?"

Lisbon tapped her foot in irritation and waited for Jane to reassess the situation. The lack of coffee had immediately put her into a very foul mood and she wasn't willing to mess around. After all, Jane was still grinning quite happily; he knew he was guilty and so did she. As far as she was concerned, they might as well have just cut to the chase and got on with it. But then again, this was Jane, and he was probably going slowly but surely mad with the lack of work. Breaking the machine just to get a rise out of her had probably been his way of alleviating the boredom.

"Or… you're just bored in this quiet spell. What happened to chasing down criminals? Why are you wasting your time hounding poor, innocent consultants?"

"Innocent, my ass," she huffed under her breath.

"No need to be rude," Jane answered back swiftly. "You need to fight your caffeine addiction, Lisbon. Contrary to popular belief, it _is_ a drug, you know."

"Considering the amount of tea you drink, I hardly think you're one to judge."

"Tea has less caffeine in it. And besides, if you're really that desperate, I'm sure there's some instant coffee in the cupboards somewhere. I think I saw it once, when I was looking for some cookies…"

"Instant coffee tastes like crap."

"You say that about the coffee from the coffee machine anyway."

"How would you like it if I suggested you drank instant tea?"

"There's no such thing, surely?"

She quirked an eyebrow and Jane balked slightly. Lisbon wasn't above petty revenge when it came to Jane and if that meant ridding the CBI headquarters of all the teabags on the premises, then so be it. Of course, he had to know that she meant it too. Whenever she was in an irritable mood, which if you believed him, was the majority of them, she was more likely to act rashly.

"Okay, so it does exist, but it _is_ a crime against tea. You really think anyone should bother drinking it when there is far better stuff on the market?"

"And yet you think I should be drinking instant coffee?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, my dear Lisbon."

"I don't care," she held up a hand in protest as she spoke. "How the hell did you break it anyway?"

"I was trying to make you a coffee," Jane protested, bored of maintaining the 'innocent' act. "Buying you all those coffees is expensive and as you well know, the CBI doesn't pay much-"

"I don't _ask_ you for the coffees, so don't have to blame me."

"Well, I'm hardly going to drink the stuff am I? Anyway, it was out of coffee and I…"

"You know what? I don't want to know anymore," Lisbon retorted; her levels of frustration were reaching boiling point. "I'm informing Wainwright. No doubt he'll want to charge you for a new one."

"But he already hates me!"

"Please. Just because he called you a psychopath, it doesn't mean that he hates you, Jane. Actions speak louder than words."

"But-"

"And if anything, I believe it was actually an astute observation and you have taken it to heart."

Before he had a chance to respond, Lisbon left the bullpen and headed straight back to her office. She didn't leave quickly enough to avoiding hearing Rigsby's comment of 'I thought she went easy on him, actually', though she did miss Jane's inevitable retort.

With a sigh, she closed the door to her office tightly shut and headed back towards the calm of her desk. Slowly, she rested her head on the table and carried out some breathing techniques. Digging into Jane like that had been a touch unprofessional and she knew it. Just because it was something that the team had grown to expect her to do to him, it didn't mean that she actually had to behave in such a way. After five minutes, once she had gotten her state of mind back under control, she started working.

But not before Jane opened the door to her office and walked straight towards her. She didn't bother asking what had happened to his manners, if his mother had ever taught him to knock on closed doors. Lisbon already knew the answer to both those questions anyway. Instead, she remained silent as he placed a cup of something beside her and waited for him to speak.

"I know it's not coffee, but chamomile tea has some real calming properties. I thought it might help."

"Thanks, Jane," she muttered, almost sadly.

xxx

Come morning, Lisbon had already walked into the kitchenette before she remembered that the coffee machine had been broken. She almost turned on her heels to walk away, when she spotted something different.

Something new.

A shiny, metallic coffee machine. Top of the range, if she hadn't been mistaken.

Attached, was a post-it note with two words written on it: I'm sorry.

Lisbon smiled as she allowed her hands to run over the smooth curves of the machine. Footsteps quickly approached from behind her and she turned to see who it was. Jane. She wasn't surprised in the slightest. After all, the thing he loved most about getting people (and especially her) a gift was seeing their reaction. Of course he would want to see if she liked it or not. And in his hands was her favorite mug and already, it had been filled with hot coffee.

"That machine will make the best coffee you've ever tasted," Jane said before quickly adding, "or so I've been led to believe by the lovely sales assistant. So if it doesn't, you'll have to take it up with Natasha."

He handed her the coffee as his smile broadened. Lisbon closed the distance between them to take it. Surprising herself, she swiftly rolled onto her tiptoes and placed a gentle kiss on his left cheek.

"Thanks, Jane," she said and she meant it as well. "I appreciate it."


	36. Jealous

**A/N: **Happy Birthday to Miss Snap! Hope you have a fantastic day.

Thanks to: Iloveplotbunnies, Lothlorien Aerterna, Little-Firestar84, MerriWyllow, Wldwmn and lil smiles for reviewing _Hot, Strong and Bittersweet_.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **The Tipping Point  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** falling apart in four steps.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes:** Some minor spoilers for season 4.

**The Tipping Point**

1. _trust issues._

"Do you trust me?"

She turns on her heels, surprised to hear the words coming from his mouth. Usually, he doesn't need to ask these questions, he can read it from her body language alone. Lisbon cocks her head quizzically as she observes him, trying to work out whether or not he's just messing with her.

When he repeats the question, she realizes he means it.

Shaking her head, she walks away, but he follows.

Does she trust him? Really?

That's something she cannot be sure of, so how can she work out how to formulate an answer to his question?

In some aspects of her life, of course she does. She wouldn't doubt it in a second. But there's been so many times he's lied to her, misled her, tricked her, it would be foolish of her to place her entire trust into Patrick Jane.

And Teresa Lisbon is no fool.

Today has been another one of those days when he's demonstrated exactly why she doesn't have that implicit trust in him that he so obviously craves.

Already, he's used the 'deniability' excuse.

And already, he's acting as if it's absurd that she's behaving so abrasively with him.

It's not that she's a control freak (well, she is, but she would never admit to that), but it's her job to be in charge. To stop problems from happening _before_ they occur. To carry out damage control if needs be.

She's sick and tired of being the last to know when it comes to these big issues.

Fed up of how little regard he has for her and her career. He may claim otherwise, but actions speak far louder than his words ever can. Words may be his expertise, but she stopped falling for that one a long while ago.

When he chases her down to her office, she isn't surprised. She still hasn't given him a proper answer, after all.

And when she finally says 'Yes, I do trust you,' to him, and he reacts unusually, she isn't surprised.

He probably knew before she even said it that it was only a half-truth.

2. _jealousy can be a killer._

He's protective of her.

That's an established fact, something that doesn't bother Lisbon all that much.

What does is some of his actions.

For years, they've danced the fine line between friendship and something more. Some days, it irritates her and she wishes for some space between them. On others? She's grateful for the simple fact that she knows she has somebody fighting in her corner.

However, it doesn't give him the right to figuratively brand her, to mark her as his own.

No human being is somebody's possession. Or at least, they shouldn't be. In her line of work, Lisbon is more than aware that it's something that can – and does – still happen.

But the point is moot.

Lisbon doesn't belong to him. And even if they did fall off that fine, fine line into the something more, then she still wouldn't belong to him. She'd still be her own person.

He places a hand on her elbow as she talks to the new coroner. She may not have his skills, but she's more than aware of what his body language is saying.

Mine. Stay away.

And it annoys her thoroughly. Even if this coroner were her type – which he's not, then it's none of his damn business what she does with him. The same applies to any other man that takes her fancy, for that matter.

Later, she tries to pull him up on it but he laughs it off. Says it doesn't matter and he doesn't mean to act in such a way. When she persists, he claims that the poor man's a high functioning sociopath anyway. That she's better off without him. He'd been doing her a favor by behaving in the manner that he did.

Storming off is the only way she can react. The man's arrogance still astounds her on occasion.

When they discover that the coroner was responsible for the murder later, she feels even worse.

3. _the difference between talking and not._

Jane covers her hands with his, but she pulls them away.

He frowns at her, but she glances away.

This is almost becoming routine now, and she knows it.

This dance between them, the push and pull, is wearing her thin and she wishes that there was something she could do about it.

Lately, he's been clingier than ever. Almost as if he believes she needs him close by, as some kind of protective barrier. Like he, who uses wordplay or trickery to get what he wants over action, can keep the demons at bay.

They both know that this is a dangerous game.

Instead of being protected, she knows that she's more exposed.

There's one specific demon that he cannot protect her from. Nobody can. _He's_ made his intentions far too clear for that to be disregarded.

Once upon a time, it had been easy keeping Jane at arm's length. However, somewhere along the line he's managed to worm his way into her affections and thus, they have become too close for comfort.

Red John is still out there, still waiting to make his move.

He's made his intentions clear in the past. Jane's life is meant to be one of misery and suffering.

And she, she's the only person he is truly close to now.

Lisbon knows just how badly he'd react if anything happened to her.

How can she protect him from her own death?

But whatever she does, she feels like she's lying to herself.

Jane is a friend, a good friend, but the demon on her shoulder keeps whispering teasing words into her ear. But then, the _other_ demon asks her if she can really love a man as tempestuous and dangerous as her father?

And whenever she feels like she's getting that little bit too close, there's the timely reminder of the target firmly painted on her back.

There are so many reasons why she shies away from Jane. So many things they could – and probably should talk about.

Instead, they stick to the harmless topics. Work, the weather, current affairs. Anything which doesn't address_ them_ specifically.

And she cannot help but wonder if that will be what kills them, never mind the threat from Red John.

4. _the tipping point._

"This has to stop."

The words fall out faster than she anticipates. They'd had been teetering on the tip of her tongue for all too long and before she really had a chance to comprehend what she was thinking, she's already said it.

Jane frowns, leans back and scrutinizes her.

She's used to this; used to him reading her, trying to work out whether or not she means what she actually says. And she does.

Living with his mind games is slowly but surely driving her insane. His determination, his persistence to kill Red John has tested her to her very limits. Lisbon remembers a time when she used to be no-nonsense, all about the job.

And now, she misses it.

Because back then, it had all been black and white. If Jane tried to kill a man, she'd have had him behind bars. Now, she's allowed him to do just that and welcomed him back with open arms time and time again.

For a while now, it's been nagging at the back of her mind. She's been wondering how and why her moral standing has slipped by the wayside.

Jane may have remained steadfast in his decision to slaughter Red John, but she cannot help but wonder what's driving him now. Revenge burns hot and fast, but it's been nine long years. Nine years and no real, discernible progress.

And his actions, his behavior, is beginning to scare her. Again.

Lately, he's been venting his frustrations out on other criminals.

His plans have become more morally dubious, more legally questionable.

This is something which should never have happened and she's kicking herself for it.

And just last week, he hospitalized one. That's the reason for his five day suspension.

This is the first opportunity she's had to talk to him since having time to think for herself.

She needs to get out of this foggy grey area. Remind herself why she became a cop in the first place.

Claim her life back as her own.

But even now, with this renewed sense of self, she cannot abandon him entirely, leave him by the wayside.

Lisbon knows that she's the one thing that's kept him afloat for such a long while. But how can he find real reason for his life if he's spending all of it clinging to her?

"I'm leaving."

She's not going far, he'll still be able to find her if he needs to.

But she just needs the space.


	37. Disappointed

**A/N: **Let's get the important things done first: 1. I have a cat laying on my right shoulder. 2. this was written in January, but I forgot I hadn't posted it. 3. there's a reason I'm posting a fic that says it's a Lisbon/Red John pairing in a Jane/Lisbon collection... just give it a chance okay? And let me know what you think!

With thanks to Lothlorien Aeterna, SteeleSimz, Little-Firestar84, SharpestSatire, Phosphorescent, MerriWyllow and lil smiles for reviewing _The Tipping Point_.

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Murderous Intent  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Lisbon/Red John  
**Summary:** Lisbon and Red John a married couple? Why ever not?  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for iloveplotbunnies as a part of the Holiday Fics challenge. I had a ball with this one, honestly. :-)

**Murderous Intent**

"Put down your weapon."

Her voice is laced with authority, just as he expects of her. His eyes flicker downwards, to the knife in his hands and then back up to look her in the eyes. He can tell how much this is hurting her in her honest, green eyes from just the one glance. Then again, it was always going to end this way. He knows it, she knows it. It was just a matter of time. And apparently, that time is now. She has to do this; she's duty-bound to do so. There's one thing Teresa Lisbon takes deathly seriously and that's her job.

Then again, she takes her wedding vows equally seriously. Not that anyone she knows outside of this room even realizes she's married.

Not even the self-confessed know-it-all, Patrick Jane knows that.

However, it's good to keep a secret or two. It keeps relationships fresh, healthy even.

"Darling, must it always come down to weapons?"

"I said, put it down."

"I know you did, dear."

She narrows her eyes, as she always does whenever she's frustrated with him. Automatically, he smiles slightly, but keeps his knife steadied in his hands. When it comes down to it, they're both as persistent as one another. This is a battle of wills that could last a while.

Well, it normally does.

And that's what makes their relationship so exciting.

"Are the others coming?"

"What do you think?" she says, daring, taunting him.

From anybody else, that would be a dangerous game. From her, it's simply amusing. She's just playing her part, as he is his. Besides, it's almost standard protocol, or at least it is for her. From the shadows, he's watched her go through this situation time and time again. That pride coursed through him each and every time she caught whichever criminal she was dealing with at that specific moment in time.

And as an added benefit, there's always been something incredibly sexy about a petite, fierce woman taking down the bad guys. There's a reason he's chosen her as a soul mate, after all.

Even if he's always known that one day, it'll be him staring down the barrel of her loaded gun. It's just a shame it had to happen so soon, for real, rather than as just a game in the bedroom. Depending on how this goes, they never even had the chance to reach their fifth wedding anniversary. Never had the chance to even think about kids, either. That's probably a good thing, considering that neither of their lives are exactly accommodating to offspring. It wouldn't be fair to them and even more so the child they brought into the world.

Lisbon sighs heavily, but does not falter. He, however, is distracted by it and the knife falls to his feet. After he kicks it aside, giving up, she does the same with her firearm. He's not sure if he's happy or sad about that. Without the gun, she's less imposing, less of a threat, but equally, there's less fierce intensity about her. However, it also means it's safe to approach the woman he loves and remind her of just that.

With a warm smile, he finally closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around her lithe form. As his fingers dance up and down her spine, she hums slightly and melts into his touch. That feeling of power over her always makes him feel stronger. He knows how to torture and kill humans and happily does so on occasion, but it's the pleasuring of one very specific woman that really breaks him.

When she rolls up onto her tiptoes and covers his lips with her own, he decided that this must be the very definition of bliss.

Her tongue swipes delicately against his lower lip and he cannot help but melt to her whim and grant her access. There's something so firm, yet gentle about her ministrations. He's never been able to say no to her.

It's half the reason he didn't kill her when he first had the chance, all those years ago. On their first meeting, when she didn't realize who he was, who his other persona was.

She knows now, has known for years.

The question is why hasn't she dared to stop him before now?

Why has she let him get away with murder, quite literally?

Is it because he's been too good? That although she knows his other name, the one the media and the police and Patrick Jane refer to him as, that she doesn't have any solid evidence, barring her own testimony?

Or more likely, because if she tries to send him down now, using her testimony, she'll go crashing in flames as well. After all, that would beg the question, why didn't she inform the authorities earlier? Why keep it such a big secret?

The answer to that is easy: love.

She's blinded by love. Has been for too long. So has he, though he'd never admit to it.

Teresa Lisbon couldn't break her own heart because of the law. She's already had to make so many sacrifices and this would probably be a step too far.

Wouldn't it?

There's a loud bang from somewhere and he's brought straight back to the present.

The first thing he notices is the shooting pain. He staggers back, places his hands onto his abdomen. Wildly, he looks around the room, at the smiley face he'd painted on the wall, at the dead girl lying prone on the floor behind them. Then, he looks back at his wife and then down at his hands, covering his stomach.

When he removes his fingers from it, just thirty seconds later, they're covered in sticky red blood. His own blood.

The bitch.

She _shot_ him. Her own husband.

Has literally broken him, and not just his heart either.

And now, she's just standing there, not doing a thing. Watching him die.

She's holstering his gun, as if it were her own. He'd stashed it in the back of his pants for safe-keeping, just in case something went wrong whenever he went out on one of his sprees. You never knew when a victim's boyfriend was going to come home early, or if they were going to have friends to visit. Even the most meticulously planned murder could have something go wrong.

Can't plan for every single detail.

Certainly can't plan for your own wife springing you in the middle of a murder and then killing you with your own weapon.

But, quite obviously, these things do happen from time to time.

Unfortunately.

"You…"

"Patrick Jane says hi," she says lightly.

It's a few more seconds until his eyes flutter shut for the last time.


	38. Positive

**A/N:** Another Paint It Red 2012 Great Stocking Exchange gift, this time for Brown Eyes Parker aka hollygolightly2010.

With thanks to: Iloveplotbunnies, Little-Firestar1984 and MerriWyllow for reviewing _Murderous Intent_.

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** The Stars Get Red  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** In his time away, he's realized just how much he needs Teresa Lisbon, just how much he craves her. Now, he's just making up for lost time.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for Brown Eyes Parker/hollygolightly2010 as a part of the Paint It Red 2012 Great Stocking exchange.

**The Stars Get Red**

It's another one of those goddamn fundraisers.

Jane knows that Lisbon loathes these things. That she would do anything, _anything_ at all, just to get out of them. However, the new boss is keen to continue building on the improved public perception of the CBI since they have taken Lorelei Martins into custody. Her connection to Red John has been well-publicized and people just want to know more. As a consequence, that means it's mandatory for the whole of the Serious Crimes Unit to be in attendance at this particular event. People, especially the rich and semi-famous, want to talk to them about Red John, about _anything_. For one night only, Lisbon and her team are practically celebrities.

Somehow, Jane has managed to hide himself away in a corner and not be bothered by anybody. He pulled a few magic tricks earlier, entertained the crowds, reminded them of just how fortunate they were and made them donate lots of money as a consequence. Now, people are more interested in talking about him and his audacity than to him. He smirks; it's probably because he scares them, just a little. They don't know how much more money he could end up costing them and don't want to risk it. Well, it's either that or he just knows how to blend into a crowd very well. Or both of course; that's a suitable compromise.

Still, it allows him to do his favorite hobby in peace: people watching. Or it would, had he not been very distracted by one specific woman. Teresa Lisbon is clad in a beautiful deep red dress and completely oblivious to all the attention she is getting as a consequence. She smiles politely at people, answers the questions and bites her tongue whenever she thinks they've been staring for too long. When she hitches up the bottom of the gown and reveals her shapely calves, Jane cannot help but stare alongside her many admirers.

But unlike them, he is the one she heads straight towards. Without needing to be asked, she takes a seat beside him and starts fiddling with her hair. She's curled it and it looks, soft, silky and uncharacteristically feminine and he wishes he could have the opportunity to run his fingers through it. He manages to resist the temptation, though. Contrary to popular belief, he is the master of self-control. Unlike Lisbon, who cannot resist the temptation to finally complain about the fact she is obliged to be here at all.

"I hate this," she mutters before taking a sip of water.

He knows that she's a designated driver tonight; she refuses to take risks on the road. Unfortunately, it also means that she cannot drink alcohol to take away the edge of her frustration.

"It could be worse," he states.

"How so?"

Jane shrugs. He knows he's said enough to make Lisbon's mind run through all the alternative scenarios that they could have found themselves in. Considering how blinkered she can be, she has a fairly vivid imagination. As she ponders on this subject, Jane drinks a little of his champagne as he scans the room for the others. Van Pelt is flirting with a patron by the bar and Cho is standing beside her, almost possessive, but not saying a word. Rigsby and Sarah are huddled behind another table, either whispering sweet nothings to one another or urgently discussing just how suitable Benjamin's babysitter is. They're making the best of a bad situation, which is more than can be said for some.

When Lisbon digs out her cell phone, in the hope of finding some sort of distraction in that, Jane slowly moves his hand over to her thigh. Gently, he runs his fingers up and down it and she doesn't even flinch. She doesn't even glare at him, or ask him to move it away, either. Lisbon usually isn't one for public displays of affection, but clearly she's just too irritable to care. And even if she does come to her senses, and tells him to stop it, it's not his fault she is looking quite so attractive tonight. Although, he did suggest that she wore this very specific dress tonight, so…

"You cannot honestly say you enjoy things like this, can you?" she eventually says when she realizes that nobody is going to provide her with an ideal excuse to escape.

"Not really."

"It's nothing more than begging for money. The CBI shouldn't even _have_ to do this."

"I know, dear, I _know_," he whispers and moves his hand to her bare back. "But surely, it's a necessary evil?"

"I guess…"

He rolls up his jacket sleeve to quickly glance at his watch. When he sees the time, he smiles, stands and offers her his hand. She doesn't accept it; instead, she stares at it as if it's some kind of trick. Then, she glances up and looks him in the eye. He smiles warmly at her and she frowns. Sometimes, she's too cynical for her own good.

"It's a beautiful night out there."

"So?"

"I think we can make our excuses now."

"It's only…" she pauses, to check the clock on her cell phone. "Ten thirty-seven p.m."

"Perfect time to leave, I think."

"A bit early…"

"I thought you _wanted_ to go?"

She pouts and suddenly looks all the more irresistible. Jane knows what she's thinking: if we leave too early, then the boss won't be impressed. However, she seems to have forgotten that she has him on her side. They've been closer than ever since he returned after a six month absence. The line between friendship and something more has been completely forgotten. In his time away, he's realized just how much he needs Teresa Lisbon, just how much he craves her. Now, he's just making up for lost time.

Of course, he's well aware of the potential consequences. That's why he has to be so careful at the very same time.

Some days, it's harder to resist than others.

Eventually, she stands, but she doesn't take his hand. Jane takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around her waist, to keep her as close as feasibly. He's surprised when she doesn't object; she's stone cold sober, so she cannot blame it on being slightly tipsy. However, he can do precisely that.

"I've got a migraine," he whispers carefully in her ear and she turns to face him.

"Liar," Lisbon hisses back in response.

"I thought you needed a viable excuse to leave. I'm sick; you're taking me home to make sure I'm in good health for work in the morning."

"Right. And who'll believe that?"

"Anybody, if I'm the one to tell them," he says, as smug as ever.

"You're really that confident in your abilities, aren't you?"

"Teresa, _please_," he answers back.

They stop outside. The stars are out, twinkling brightly. He hadn't been lying; it is a beautiful night. There's a pleasantly cool breeze; the polar opposite of the stuffy insides of that grand hall. Lisbon shivers as it catches her bare skin, however. Instinctively, Jane slips off his jacket and insists that she wears it. She tries to put up a bit of a fight, but eventually realizes that he isn't going to back down on this one. He knows she needs it more than he does.

As they walk towards her car, he takes her and she accepts it willingly. An easy silence fills the space between them. The walk feels like it lasts forever and yet no time at all. When they finally reach her car, he pins he against the door and she looks at him quizzically. Stroking some strands of hair away from her face, he smiles wistfully. She always looks beautiful to him, but illuminated by just moonlight, there's something infinitely more alluring about her.

It isn't about what he can see; it's about what he _can't_.

"Jane…" she whispers nervously, but he quickly cuts her off.

"Don't."

Gently, he places one hand to her cheek and she rests comfortably into his touch. There's nobody watching them now and he can feel all his inhibitions disappearing in a heartbeat. It helps that she feels precisely the same way; the lack of an audience has meant she's immediately opened up to him. Without giving her too much of a warning, he allows his lips to gently graze upon hers.

It seems like a little temptations goes a long way when it comes to Teresa Lisbon.

Because, that brief moment's touch is not enough for her. She laces her hands behind the back of his head and runs her fingertips through his blond curls. Carefully, she pulls him down just a little until his lips meet hers for a second time. Her teeth nip gently at his bottom lip and his more than happy to part them, to give her the access she's desperate for. Everything she gives to him, he returns tenfold. He runs the tip of his tongue against her bottom lip before exploring deeper and she moans at the touch.

He's been waiting for this for far too long, he decides.

Jane is eventually the one to pull away first. Carefully he places his head beside her ear and whispers three words. He cannot control himself; he's (almost) said the very same thing before, but at the time, he denied it. And once again, they come tumbling out before he evens has a chance to stop himself from saying them.

"_I love you_."

She frowns, pushes him away and all he can do is watch as she walks off into the distance. Silently, Jane curses at himself. It's so damn typical of him to find a way to spoil everything.

xxx

His heart lifts when he sees her walking straight back towards him after just ten minutes. But, then, it sinks again. She has to come back, because she wants to go home – and as a consequence, she needs to take him as well. Theoretically, he could ask one of the others, but they all look too… occupied. And besides, none of them is Lisbon.

"I'm sorry," she mutters when she eventually closes the distance between them.

"Why did you walk away?"

"I don't know."

Jane does, though. This time, she cannot feign misunderstanding what he'd just told her. She'd heard it loud and clear. She panicked and as a consequence, she took flight. Now, she stands in front of him, wholly embarrassed and completely unsure as to where to go next. Lisbon is one of the bravest people he knows; she'll more than happily enter a building with armed criminals, take down a man twice her size and even deals with bomb threats with a modicum of sensibility. However, whenever it comes to affairs of the heart, she grows scared and runs away. Fight or flight instinct is inbuilt into everybody, and he cannot be surprised that, this time around, she chose flight.

"Teresa…"

"I can't do this, Jane."

She looks at him pleadingly and he knows she's begging him to drop the issue. He's known Lisbon is in love with him for longer than even she has. That doesn't make this situation any easier.

"I don't want to hurt you..."

"You'll never do that."

"…and I don't want you to hurt me either."

"I promise I won't."

"And how do you know you can keep that promise?" she asks, daring him.

"I don't," he replies honestly.

"Besides, it's too dangerous. We both know that Red John has an… interest in me now."

It's not egotism; it's the truth. Still, he catches her by the wrist and lifts her hand up to kiss her knuckles. This time, she does pull away and though he expected it, it doesn't stop it from being saddening.

"We'll cross those bridges when we come to them."

"Oh really?"

She sounds as skeptical as always. It's not that she doesn't want it to work, he can tell that. Instead, she just cannot see how it could work because there's so many problems that they're going to have to face. Issues with work never faze Lisbon; but she has a fear of commitment that she's never been sure if she'll be able to overcome.

"Teresa- Lisbon… Teresa," he says and she glances away. "For once in your life, you need to stop thinking."

"And what good is that going to do?" she retorts gruffly.

He doesn't answer her. Instead, he places several small butterfly kisses along her cheek before his lips finally land on hers. The touch is enough to awaken something inside of her and she returns it, tentatively at first, but slowly and surely with more passion.

Patrick Jane doesn't know if what they have is going to be enough.

But he's sure as hell willing to give it a damn good try.


	39. Love

**A/N: **Look at me, updating this collection like a pro. Thanks to Miss Peg for telling me that this story is okay. I'm still not sure, but hey, I'm allowed self-doubt.

Thanks to: MerriWyllow, Brown Eyes Parker, Frogster, Wldwmn and Little-Firestar84 for reviewing _The Stars Get Red_.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Need You Now  
**Author: ** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters: **Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary: **The more he tried not to think about Lisbon, however, the more that he did.  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for the redjohnlovesyou countdown to seasons five on LiveJournal and the September 2012 Monthly Challenge on Paint It Red. With thanks to Miss Peg for betaing.

**Need You Now  
**  
He sat on the plush couch and stared out into the middle distance. In one hand, he clasped a shot glass filled with whiskey and ice. Patrick Jane let out a slow, steady breath. This wasn't peace he felt.

It was uncertainty.

For so long, his life had been dedicated to one task and one task only: catch Red John. Kill him and exact revenge in order to honor his deceased wife and child. Nothing else had ever come into the equation. Jane had never dared to think of a life after Red John. It was partially because he was blinkered and fixated on the task in hand, but also because he wasn't sure if there would be such a thing as an 'after'.

In the end, he hadn't been able to kill Red John. His mind had faltered at the critical moment. Instead, Teresa Lisbon had been the victor. She had cuffed the serial killer, dragged him back to the CBI headquarters and questioned him. Just like she had strived after for the vast majority of her career with the CBI; bringing down the deadliest of criminals was what drove her. How could he fault her for that? She was the most honorable person he knew.

Jane closed his eyes tightly. There was little point in staring into space and trying desperately to think about nothing at all.

It didn't work.

It never did.

After all, his mind was too quick, too active. It quickly filled any void with pictures. Of the past, of the future, of alternative universes. He had always been one to ask 'what if?' Extrapolation was a natural ability to him and something he'd honed while learning his craft. Sometimes, it was a blessing but now, it had become a curse.

Patrick Jane would never be free of his demons, because they would always be there in his mind.

But then, there were other things there too.

Briefly, his fingers danced across his cellphone. It would have been so easy to call her, to tell her that he missed her and wanted her. Now. She was on speed dial. Not that he needed that; Jane had committed Lisbon's number to memory a long, long time ago.

Every time he thought of her, though, he thought of Red John. He saw her leading away the man who had killed his wife and child. The two were currently inexorably linked and unsurprisingly so. For a start, it had happened less than a week ago. That, and Lisbon had always been adamant that Red John was her case, not his. She was the lead agent, after all.

The more he tried not to think about Lisbon, however, the more that he did.

He didn't need photographs dancing around his room to remind him of memories associated with her. They were safely stashed away in his memory palace, locked in a place that nobody else could get at. Not even Red John could taint those.

And for the first time in a week, a small smile crossed his face.

Jane remembered her steely confidence when they first met. How she had taken everything on board willingly and casually reminded him that regardless of how much cleverer he thought he was than her, she was still his boss. Nobody had spoken to him like that before, not even Angela.

There was the time she had nearly lost control in her own lounge. She'd been so broken, so fearful and so embarrassed. About what he might have thought, what he was going to say. And the fact that she already knew he had committed it to memory.

Then, there was the time when she wore that beautiful black ball gown, looking incredibly self-conscious, yet incredibly sexy at the same time. Especially when she had added that little leather jacket to the ensemble. She'd loathed that fundraiser, particularly because it had been so close to Bosco's death. Never before had she looked so pleased to have a reason to go and do some actual work.

All the times she had saved his life. There had been more of those occasions than even she had known about.

Then, there was the moment he had risked everything just to give intohis feelings for just the one night. They'd made love on the very couch he was currently sitting on and then, he'd wondered if he was going to lose her over that.

Not necessarily to Red John, but through her pushing him away.

In the end, Red John had tried the former. Jane had no idea how the serial killer had discovered the simple fact that they had taken their relationship to the next level – albeit, just for one night – but he had. That had ended up being his downfall.

That was the time when Lisbon had set herself up as the bait and lured Red John in.

Now, he was behind bars and he couldn't hurt anyone.

Not even Lisbon. She was the final victim that wasn't. And considering she now held that mantle, he was pleasantly surprised with just how well she was holding up. That was less than could have been said for him. His traitorous mind kept running through all the possible scenarios that could have happened and none of them were pretty.

Automatically, his eyes were drawn straight back to his cellphone.

Then, he remembered the most recent moment that had been etched in his memories. She had swept into his apartment and slammed some forms down on his desk. Fire was ablaze in her eyes, but he'd had to ignore it. Lisbon always seemed so attractive whenever she was furious and at the time, he just had to try and bitterly ignore that.

"What the hell is the meaning of this?" she'd seethed.

The question had been rhetorical. They had both known what a resignation form meant. Patiently, Jane had explained to her that he was just fulfilling his promise. He'd always said he would leave the CBI once the Red John case had been dealt with. Nothing else remained for him there now that it was closed, he'd said. Lisbon had promptly left without another word. However, she hadn't needed to speak in order to say what she was thinking. The look in her eyes had said it all.

Now, hours later, Jane glanced at the forms once again – she had specifically left them behind – and then back at his cellphone. Deep down, he had known he was lying to her even before he'd said that there was nothing left for him at the CBI.

And she had probably known he was lying as well.

In truth, he was scared of the alternative.

Of falling in love again.

Of having his heart broken once more.

Of losing her.

But, by pushing her away, he was doing precisely that. Quickly, Jane downed the whiskey and picked up his phone. His fingers danced across the keys, dialing that all too familiar number. Nervously, he placed it to his ear as his heart thumped a military tattoo against his ribcage. It seemed like an eternity until she actually bothered to answer him.

In reality, Lisbon picked up after just two rings.

"Jane?" she said and she sounded tired. "What do you want?"

"I need you," he muttered quickly, the words falling out before he had a chance to stop them. "Now. How soon can you get here?"

Lisbon didn't answer the question. Instead, silence echoed back and Jane frowned. Slowly, he placed his cell phone down and stared at it, willing her to call him back.

She never did.

Instead, there was a frantic knock at the door five minutes later.

Jane leapt to his feet faster than he had done so in quite some time. When he saw a slightly disheveled Lisbon on his doorstep, he broke out into a smile. She didn't say a word in return. Instead, she placed her hands gently on his cheeks, rolled up onto the balls of her feet and met his lips for an embrace.

Never before had she instigated such a thing between them. On the only other occasion they had shared a kiss, he had been the one to instigate it. Lisbon was so fearful of scaring him away, that never before had she been quite so daring. Even so, Jane knew that she could be forceful and dominating when she wanted to be. She'd never have gotten to where she was in her career if she hadn't had those characteristics.

But this – this was new to him and a very pleasant development to say the least. Jane reciprocated willingly; in truth, this was all he'd wanted for them for a considerably long period of time. However, it had been too dangerous, too risky to do anything about it. After the one night they had shared, he'd felt like he was living on a knife edge. But it wasn't just because Red John had been leering down at them, but because of his mental health too. Only now did he realize there was no threat at all. Lisbon was never going to push him away; she had endured so much crap because of him already. She hadn't left then, so she wasn't going to now. For somebody so perceptive, it was surprising just how blind he could be at times.

When she finally pulled away, breathless, he spent a moment tracing the contours of her face with his fingertips.

"You were only five minutes away. Your house is further away than that."

Lisbon shrugged. "I knew you would change your mind."

Finally, Jane pulled her inside and shut the door behind her. She was right; he'd said he was going to leave in the heat of the moment. He hadn't had a chance to truly react to the repercussions of Red John actually being gone for good. A few hours alone had changed that.

The look of warmth and tenderness in her eyes practically melted him on the spot. Still, her love for him hadn't surprised him all that much. After all, he could read her like an open book. He had probably known she had loved him for longer than she had herself.

What did surprise him, though, was her faith and conviction in him. Jane had never truly given her much of a reason to trust him. He was as fluid as a river, constantly moving, never stopping in the same place twice. He'd believed that he'd only stuck around because of Red John.

But now, with her by his side, Jane knew that he had finally found his way back home.


	40. Focused

**A/N: **with thanks to MerriWyllow, Brown Eyes Parker, April, Wldwmn, Miss Peg and Frogster for reviewing _Need You Now._

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Secession  
**Author: ** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters: **Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary: **Hot as Hell, loud as thunder, black as night, cold as ice. Lisbon's shifts in feelings during 4x24 The Crimson Hat.  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for the October 2012 Monthly Challenge on Paint It Red. Also for Miss Peg/RedFi in the Paint It Red 2012 Great Stocking Exchange.

**Secession**

_Hot as Hell_

"Boss."

Her voice is small, timid. Uncharacteristic, even. Still, you ignore her. Your temper is simmering, building up to a boiling rage.

You turn to face her.

Pause.

Stop to pinch the bridge of your nose. You'll do anything to try and fend off the oncoming headache.

"Boss," she repeats, louder this time. As if you hadn't noticed her standing in your office.

"Yes, Van Pelt?" you ask, with a voice that's weary, tired.

Well, it has been a long day, after all.

"You okay?"

"Just fine," you answer.

It's a lie, but it's also your mantra. Even now, after all these years of working together as a team, you cannot bring yourself to be fully honest with the others. You're so used to building up walls, of maintaining barriers just to keep yourself safe. Some habits die hard and this is one you still cling onto, regardless of whether or not that's a good thing.

Van Pelt furrows her brow, clearly disbelieving and you don't blame her in the slightest. Heck, you can't even convince yourself that you're fine, so what chance do you have of other people believing you?

"But…"

"It's just a flesh wound," you state, irritated. "_You_ nearly got yourself killed!"

And now, it finally hits home, the ramifications of the day's events. You hit boiling point and it all comes rushing out. Van Pelt practically cowers and all you can do is hope that she knows that this is your way of showing that you care about her. You don't mean to be so angry, so frustrated, but this is more than just the job to you. These people are your life and soul.

Just because you cannot stand to have them too close to you, it doesn't mean that you want them too far away either.

You pause again. Blink.

Unwittingly, you conjure up an all too familiar smiley red face, one that haunts your nightmares. It's been going on too damn long; you should have caught him by now. The fact that he's still out there, alive, and not behind bars, hurts. It reminds you of your failures. And that even Jane is no longer around to try and help out.

But it also makes you all the more resolved.

One day, you will capture him. One day, there will be justice in the world.

It's that which means you are so good at your job. Your persistence is second to none.

"I'm sorry," Van Pelt mutters nervously. "But we almost-"

"Almost isn't good enough," you snap, furiously. "It wasn't worth the risk. Damn it, Van Pelt, you know better than most not to cut corners when it comes to Red John."

"I know. I won't do it again."

"Good."

You breathe. She apologizes again and heads for the door, keen to make her escape. You don't blame her, not really. If anything, considering the emotional trauma that she's been through, you know you should have gone easier on her, but you just couldn't.

The terror of losing her had tipped you over the edge.

All you can do is hope that she understands why and that she doesn't hold it against you.

It doesn't surprise you that she distances herself from you once more, and ingratiates herself back in with the rest of the team.

Then again, that's probably for the best. Saves you both from hurting one another.

_Loud as Thunder_

"Do you think she's okay?"

"Not since Patrick Jane left, no," somebody answers.

"I wonder how long she can hold it together."

"Not long, I think he anchors her as much as she helps him."

You listen for a while. The coffee machine in the kitchenette is the place where everyone gossips and talks out of turn. It irks you; you wish you could stop them from gossiping about things they know nothing about, talking about your team, muttering things under hushed breaths about _you_.

Sometimes, you wonder if they have a point. It is, after all, established fact that your closed case record has slumped.

But that isn't down to the fact that you're unable to do your job; it's because you're more invested in finding Jane in one piece.

You hear rumors and speculation about his whereabouts, what he's doing, what criminal activities he's involved in day in, day out.

And every day, you find yourself calling him, texting him, shouting down the phone, begging, pleading that he'll just come back. You can sort this out, you can fix everything he's done, and you can fix _him_. Wainwright will come around; all Jane has to do is apologize. The team needs him and so does you.

But it's all in vain, because he never answers. Never replies. He doesn't even bother to send you a postcard or a letter.

Right now, you would just take one line saying that he's okay, even if you know it would be a lie.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts.

For now, you have work to be getting on with. Cases need solving; criminals need to be put behind bars. It's a never-ending tidal wave of crime and you feel like you're fighting a losing battle. It may be bleak, but you need to try and inject a little goodness into the world.

And to do that, to be able to operate, you need a coffee.

The newly formed Major Crimes Unit disperses the moment you enter the kitchenette. Muttered excuses of paperwork, people to interview later and promises to call later fill the air. You sigh; you don't even care now.

Sometimes, you wonder if you care too much. It'd be a hell of a lot easier if you didn't.

At least your team doesn't indulge in the same kind of mindless gossip. Or at least, you don't think they do. There's times when Van Pelt wears a particularly worried expression, Rigsby asks if you're okay and Cho sends a certain look in your direction. Sometimes, you find yourself wondering if you even know them at all.

But today is a good day. Or at least, you finally have a lead in a case.

However, this also means you push your team to the very limit. Work them as hard as possible, shout out them unnecessarily. They listen to your every whim though, and don't question your authority. At least some people maintain that same respect for you. It's more than can be said for some.

You wish you could feel guilty about telling Van Pelt off for not contacting the sister of the deceased.

Or Rigsby for spending a little too long on the phone to Sarah.

Or Cho for overlooking a piece of crucial evidence at the crime scene.

Then again, for once, everything falls into place. You should be pleased with yourself; it's a closed case.

But somehow, it still feels wrong.

_Black as Night_

You stare at your bedroom ceiling, willing your body into a state of rest.

It doesn't work though; it never does.

You've tried every trick in the book, just short of hypnosis. Breathing exercises, counting sheep, tensing and relaxing each muscle in your body in turn. None of it is helping and it only serves to frustrate you further.

Everything you try, your mind only wanders elsewhere.

Wainwright has made a few passing comments about your team's current shortcomings. It plagues your mind; your career was the one thing you were truly proud of and now, it's left in tatters. You don't even know where to start picking up the pieces of it.

Your team is wary of you; they still care, undoubtedly, but they can see just how much it's crushing you but none of them dare to approach you on the subject. If they did, you would only put them back in their place anyway, so the apprehension is not misplaced.

Contact with your family has grown even more erratic than usual. You even forgot that it was Annabeth's birthday last week and have had to start trying to make it up to your upset niece.

And of course, there's the whole Jane dilemma.

Sometimes, you don't even know what to think when it comes to him anymore.

You miss him, more than words can describe.

More than you expected even. Once, you had believed that it would be a blessed relief to be away from him, if only for a short while. But he plagues your thoughts, plagues your memories, and plagues your mind.

It's more torture being away from him than you ever dared to imagine.

You miss the way he lights up the room with the smile. The way that he does anything, anything at all, just to elicit a wry smile from you. How he keeps a furtive eye on you, just to make sure you're well. There's the simple fact that he's always the one to try and cheer you up when something goes wrong at work. You miss the way he knows you inside out and upside down.

And yes, even how he makes the job simultaneously far easier and much more difficult for you.

He's even missed a Red John case now and that very thought just seems _wrong_.

But, damn it, you thought he cared.

About the team.

About you specifically.

You don't doubt that he's received your messages and listened to the voicemail you've left him. However, it doesn't explain why he hasn't bothered to respond to any of them. He must know how much this is hurting you, what effect it's having on you.

But he remains stoically silent.

And instead, you're the one who is left with all the questions, the confusion and the heartache. You're the one left licking the wounds and trying desperately to make sense of it all.

It's making you sick, that much is obvious. You've never had this much trouble getting to sleep in the past.

If only you could just turn it all off and think about the situation with some level of rationale.

Your last thought before you drift off into an uneasy sleep is that he can go to Hell. You can't waste your life worrying about somebody who so obviously doesn't want your help.

And then, you wonder when your heart grew so dark when it comes to him.

_Cold as Ice_

You work harder than you have done so for months, years even.

Slowly, you're beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. The closed case record has picked up a little, even if the management isn't noticing the difference yet. But there's time for that, there's always time.

It's the one thing you have in excess these days.

It doesn't stop the team from worrying though; they can see the difference in you. Like you, they've learned from the best. They've seen all his tricks and scams and mind games. They know how to apply them to other people. And though they may not be as good as the master himself at it, they know the basics of how to read you too.

Sometimes it bothers you, but you pretend that it doesn't.

After all, they (like so many others) only have your best interests at heart. Or so they'd claim if you called them up on it, anyway.

And you think you're doing so well, at distracting yourself, at rebuilding your career and your identity. Until that is, you hear the worst news possible.

That Patrick Jane has been arrested in Las Vegas for a string of offenses, including assault of a police officer.

You'd always known he was teetering on the bridge of insanity, especially since he left the CBI, since he left you. However, this news is confirmation of all your worst nightmares.

And it comes just as you yourself have decided to give up on him.

You cannot help but believe that the timing is not a coincidence.

That it's fate, even.

Somehow, you believe you've brought this all on yourself.

When you first see him, in a church, no less, you give him short shrift. He tells you that it's all a ruse, a plan to lure out Red John. You tell him his plan is stupid and that he is too, and you mean every word.

There are worse things you can say to him too – far worse, actually – but you hold your tongue.

Not just because you're genuinely pleased to see him, but also because you know how much being close to him hurts. You cannot just forgive and forget, let this all be water under the bridge and all that. It's not that you want to see him suffer for everything he's done to you.

You just don't want to get hurt yet again.

It's got to the point where you're sick and tired of being a victim in his games.

Of Red John's games too. Somehow, you know you're intrinsically caught in the middle between the two of them and it's something that worries you immensely.

Still, you agree to his plans, but only because you can see no other way out of this mess for him. You tell yourself it's the lesser of two evils, that way.

But you're going to keep him at arm's length, just as you should have done for all these years you've worked together. That's a promise to yourself that you vow to keep.

However, it's not long until the ice that formed around your heart is thawed right through.

It's funny how much just five words can turn everything on its head.

"_Good luck, Teresa. Love you."_


	41. Sympathetic

**A/N: THIS PIECE CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR 5x02 DEVIL'S CHERRY.**

Now I've got that out of the way: thank you to: WeBuiltThePyramids, Frogster, Wldwmn, vanrigsby and MerriWyllow for reviewing _Secession_.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Belladonna  
**Author: ** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters: **Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary: **Just because she had already seen him in such a state once before, it didn't make it any less terrifying. Episode tag to 5x02 Devil's Cherry.  
**Spoilers:** 5x02 Devil's Cherry  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for the October 2012 Monthly Challenge on Paint It Red.

**Belladonna**

When Lisbon found Jane shut in his attic, he was yet again, in a full tonic-clonic seizure. Fear rushed through her system; just because she had seen him in such a state once before, it didn't make it any less terrifying. She cared deeply about him and loathed to see him suffering; the same applied to any of her team, but to him even more so. Carefully, she tipped him over onto his side in order to prevent him from choking on anything, especially his own vomit. Then, she called for an ambulance and waited impatiently for the paramedics to arrive. It didn't take long for her to notice the nondescript bag of loose leaf tea on the side. Naturally, she peered inside and wasn't entirely surprised by what she saw.

Belladonna.

"Oh, Jane," she muttered and glanced at her watch.

It had been three minutes since she had found him and she estimated that he had probably been suffering from the seizure for approximately five minutes. The cup of tea that lay on the side was still warm to the touch. And it hadn't been all that long since he had left her doing the paperwork in her office, either. It hadn't taken her long to finish up, and she was immediately relieved that she had chosen to come and say goodbye to Jane instead of just leaving. Otherwise, who knew what state he would have been in by the time he got much needed medical attention?

After what felt like a lifetime, he stopped convulsing and she moved him into the recovery position. Even so, it was like agony waiting for the ambulance to arrive. She almost hated him for doing this, but at the same time, she couldn't blame him for it. He had gotten one taste of what it would have been like to see his daughter all grown up. Stronger men would have crumbled under the temptation of such a thing. There had been times, when she was younger, when she would have done anything to see her parents once more. She had grown up since then, had realized that the past was history for a reason. But Jane? He was stuck in neutral, unable to move on from the tragedy. That was one of the many ways in which they differed.

Even so, she knew that she wouldn't be able to hold her tongue once he was conscious and lucid once more. Even though Lisbon knew precisely why he'd done it and understood his desires, it didn't stop it from being wholly irresponsible and totally stupid of him to behave in such a way. This was his health he was toying with for false pleasure and ghosts of the past. It wasn't constructive and it most certainly wouldn't help him in the long run. If anything, it encouraged him to remain stuck in that dark place where he wasn't actually living, but merely existing.

And it reaffirmed her belief that he was getting more and more foolhardy and reckless as the years went by. As they loaded him onto a gurney - something which was giving her a serious case of déjà vu - she offered him a silent prayer. Lisbon didn't care just how much he would hate it at that precise moment in time. If anything, it was more to give herself that slight comfort. She was going to save him one way or another, even if she had to drag him kicking and screaming back into reality.

xxx

Charlotte was standing in the room beside him. She looked so young, innocent and effortlessly beautiful. A smirk toyed across her features as she crossed her arms and strode over to him. She cocked her head to one side as she regarded him and in that instant, she looked so much like her mother that Jane's heart ached painfully.

"I thought I told you that I'm a grown woman now and I can do what I like?"

"Not quite yet," Jane mused out loud and she frowned. "You're only fifteen."

However much he wanted to, he resisted the urge to reach out and touch her. Jane knew that that would only serve to shatter the illusion and he'd be left alone. Charlotte tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and went to open her mouth. Instead of words coming out, she let out a strangled cry. Then, she fell to her the ground in a bloody pile. Jane called her name, tried to take a step forward, but he couldn't. Something - chains - were holding him to the spot. His eyes never left his little girl, who was clearly in agony and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Approaching footsteps made him reluctantly drag his eyes away from young Charlotte. He glared in the general direction he heard them in and wasn't surprised when a masked man walked out of the shadows. There was no need for introductions; this was Red John.

"It's been a while, Mr. Jane."

"Not long enough for my liking," Jane answered with a low growl.

He closed his eyes tightly. Images of Luther Wainwright's bloody corpse flashed before his eyes. Lorelei, who had been so close to him and yet, so far away. Jane had been so close to breaking her and then, Red John had slipped in and whisked her away. Every time he believed he was getting closer to the serial killer, it then became apparent that in actuality, he was much further away from him.

Red John leaned over Charlotte, as if to observe the damage he had already done. Though he was wearing a mask, Jane could easily imagine the leering grin that it was covering up. The serial killer - his daughter's murderer - ran a gentle gloved hand up and down her body and Jane could see her shuddering in revulsion. He tried desperately to fight against the bonds that held him, but if anything, they only served to hold him tighter. A guttural growl escaped from his throat due to sheer frustration and Red John chose that moment to look back up at him.

"You really believed she was safe from me because she was already dead?" Red John enquired with a note of amusement in his voice. "This time, I'm going to enjoy this. After all, I have a worthy audience..."

Jane tried to screw his eyes tightly shut as Red John carried out the deed. However morbid curiosity and the sound of her screams led to him taking nervous glances. When she took the last heaving breath, Jane muttered something akin to a prayer quietly. He staunchly did not believe there was a god, but he felt the need to cling onto something in order to honor Charlotte. And if nothing else, it made him feel marginally better about the situation he found himself in.

"Resorting to prayer, Mr. Jane?" Red John stated, surprised. "It's a little late for that."

"Why?"

"Your daughter was so like you. It's only fair you share the same fate."

"Lisbon will stop you. She'll be here."

"Oh?"

It was at that moment when he started screaming her name. "Lisbon, Lisbon, _Lisbon_!"

xxx

"I'm here, Jane. You're going to be okay."

"Lisbon," he repeated, with a weak smile. "You saved me."

"Saved you from what?"

She let out a shaky sigh of relief. The doctors had been as furious with Jane as she was, and she couldn't blame them for that. He'd had to have his stomach pumped for the second time within the space of just the one week. It was the same cause and the same result. They likened it to drug use, and considering the knowledge that Cho had shared with her, Lisbon privately agreed. She had to stop him from getting addicted to it, somehow. The problem was how? There didn't seem to be anything she could do; he clearly hadn't learned from his first stay in hospital.

"Damn it, Jane. _Belladonna_. Again?"

"I took a controlled dose."

She clenched her fists and took a deep breath. "It's a _drug_, Jane, a toxin. You could have killed yourself!"

"I just wanted to see her one last time…"

"I know," she breathed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I _know_. But you couldn't guarantee the same reaction twice. Did you see her again? Charlotte?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Lisbon couldn't help but instinctively wonder if that meant he was going to fall into this trap time and time again. If he would resort to that weakness every so often just to see what Charlotte looked like now, how he thought she would behave and how he believed she would grow up. Just because she was a figment of his imagination and essentially, just a construct from his own mind, it didn't stop it from feeling any less real. That was the power of hallucinations.

And yet, Lisbon knew there were worrisome statistics associated with drug use and with seizures. A surprising number of people died every year due to unexpected seizures. And then, there was the whole list of accidents that could occur in such a state. When she added in all the complications from the belladonna, it made for uneasy thinking. As far as she was concerned, Jane was playing a very dangerous game and the doctor who had now treated him, twice, had confirmed those beliefs.

Without even being prompted, Jane shared with her exactly what he'd seen. How Charlotte had appeared in the attic, looking as beautiful as he remembered. How Red John had had him bound as he slaughtered her for a second time. She listened and remained wordless. What was she meant to say to a man who had effectively seen his daughter killed by the same man twice?

"I think I've learned my lesson now. No more funky tea for me."

"Good," she answered shortly.

"Lisbon?"

"Yes, Jane?"

"My tongue hurts."

She let out a weak laugh. "You bit it during the seizure. I tried to stop you."

"I think I need to sleep now."

Lisbon nodded in response; she wasn't surprised that he was tired. It was an energetically demanding state to be in; even looking at it was tiring. She took to her feet and started to head towards the door. Jane hadn't yet closed his eyes, but he did look exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Time was going to be the best healer of them all, she firmly believed that. And considering what he had just seen while he was tripping, she was beginning to feel more confident that he wouldn't risk taking belladonna for a third time.

"Teresa?"

"Yes?" she asked again, not flinching at the use of her forename.

"Thank you."

end


	42. Safe

**A/N:** Thanks to: LetMeWalkTheEarthWithYou, WeBuiltThePyramids, Frogster and Wldwmn for reviewing _Belladonna_.

And I feel sick, so I'm heading off for an earlyish night. Hope this isn't a migraine coming on...

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **'Til The Morning After  
**Author: ** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters: **Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary: **There's one last thing Jane needs to do to seek closure before he can move on with Lisbon.  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for the October 2012 Monthly Challenge on Paint It Red. Dedicated to Lothiriel84.

**'Til The Morning After**

A cup of tea sat cooling on his makeshift desk. Jane ignored it; his mind was elsewhere. As he sat, his legs trembled and he kept glancing at his cell phone. It remained stubbornly quiet, but that was to be expected. Everybody else was busy and he knew exactly where they were, or at least, what they were doing. The rest of the team knew not to disturb him, not today. After all, the date had been firmly etched into their minds. It was something they had all practically been waiting for. Jane wished he could think of anything but it, but he couldn't, or wouldn't. For a long while he'd tried to imagine how it would feel, but in the end, it was just a confusing mess.

He wanted company, but at the same time, he didn't.

He needed closure, but didn't know how to get it.

He had time, but sometimes that was more of a blessing than a curse.

And then, there was her.

Teresa.

She had been the one stable part of his life for so long now. Her and her team; they were his knights in shining armor, his _family_. And yet, Lisbon had always been so much more to him. As a precautionary measure, he'd always kept her at arm's length and used Red John as a pithy excuse in order to do so. Somebody like her didn't deserve somebody as broken and dangerous as him. Jane knew that he attracted danger; everything he'd done he'd brought upon himself. And Lisbon, she'd suffered enough heartache throughout her life and didn't deserve anymore.

However, he knew that his excuses and his reasoning were becoming null and void. She didn't care what he was like; she'd stick with him through thick and thin. Besides, the last thing she wanted him to do was make decisions for her. Teresa Lisbon was a grown woman; she was used to making tough choices. As far as she was concerned, she didn't need saving. She could do it for herself. And as far as Red John was concerned…

There was a knock on the attic door. Immediately, Jane whipped his head around, just in time to see Lisbon herself slip through the doorframe. She looked especially somber, but that was to be expected. He knew where she'd been and what she'd done today. And he was inordinately relieved to finally be able to see her again.

"It's done," she whispered, but remained standing where she was. "I thought you'd want to know."

"Thank you; I appreciate it."

When he had told her that he wasn't going to attend the execution of the notorious serial killer, Red John, Lisbon had almost been as surprised as she'd been when he'd willingly allowed her to take the man into custody. For years, revenge had been his lifeblood, the reason he got up in the morning and the way he kept the memory of his family alive. Then, he realized he didn't need it to remember them by. They were safely locked away in his memory palace and his heart, where nobody else could touch them. Something – somebody – else had given him a reason to stay with the CBI.

He needed her as much as she needed him; that much was obvious. It didn't take a mind reader to work that one out.

Lisbon sat quietly beside him. She didn't reach out to touch him, nor did she say anything else. Jane had watched a man die before; he didn't need to know the gory details about Red John's demise. He didn't want to know about it either. The knowledge that it was finally completely and utterly dealt with and put aside was enough.

And having Lisbon by his side also helped.

The silence was almost stifling. In a way, he wished that she would break the silence first, find something to fill the void between them. But she remained as stubborn as ever, while he, he tried desperately to find the right words.

There was so much that he could say.

So much that he wanted to say.

The problem was what, and how, and when to say it.

Eventually, he opened his mouth and different words came tumbling out of his mouth. They were still appropriate for the situation, but unexpected nevertheless.

"I've gotta go."

"Where?" she asked and he couldn't deny that it was a fair question.

"I have something I need to sort out."

Jane stood and headed towards the door. He briefly turned to face Lisbon before he exited and she remained precisely where she was. That surprised him; he had half expected her to follow him, to try and find out what was going on in his mind.

"Will you come back?" she questioned quietly.

"Of course, I promise."

She didn't look like she believed him, but then again he had never given her cause to in the past. Lisbon had stuck with him through thick and thin, and understood him better than most. That meant she knew that his words were either loaded or meant nothing at all. He couldn't blame her for misjudging the situation.

But he would be back.

He couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

He just needed that complete closure first.

xxx

For years, a bucket of magnolia paint had stayed stagnating in the garage. He'd planned to do this so long ago, but had always found some kind of excuse to put it off. The journey between Sacramento and Malibu was too long and arduous, or he was too busy with work, Red John, Red John, Red John. Lately, even he had begun to believe it was a little ridiculous of him.

It was time to rid this house of the ghosts of the past.

The house was practically void of furniture; it didn't take long for him to prepare the master bedroom for a fresh lick of paint.

In the morning, he would call the realtors. He didn't care who bought the house, whether it be somebody with a morbid curiosity about Red John, another family, or even if it was turned into offices. The building was wasted on him now, it was merely brick and mortar and if anything, it had been the one thing holding him back for the past year or so. He could easily have rid himself of the place when they had apprehended Red John, but he had chosen not to.

Now, he had no excuses.

Especially if he wanted to truly start rebuilding a future.

With Lisbon, preferably.

If she would still have him, of course, though he suspected he already knew the answer to that.

Jane had known about her feelings for him for a while, probably longer than she had. It was something he reciprocated wholeheartedly, but he just hadn't been able to show it for fear of what might have happened as a consequence. Like getting rid of the house, he had no excuses now. There was nothing holding him back, nothing stopping him, but himself.

For a second, his hand quivered before he applied the magnolia paint.

Then again, the first brushstroke was always going to be the hardest.

After that point, it became increasingly easy. He worked steadily and in silence. Though he showed no emotion outwardly, with every stroke he was thinking of his family, saying goodbye to them, promising not to forget them. Though he wanted to move on, to get his life out of neutral, he wasn't replacing them.

It was more compartmentalization.

So that he _could_ truly live again.

By the end of it, he was emotionally spent. He sat in the room, staring stoically at the now-plain wall. For the first time in a long while, he felt utterly exhausted and ready to sleep.

Then again, that reaction wasn't entirely unexpected, either.

xxx

He was awoken at precisely seven minutes past six in the morning. A quiet ring from his cell phone had grown increasingly louder until it finally disturbed him from his slumber.

As he stood, the first thing Jane noticed was the dull ache in his back and shoulders. That was mostly due to sleeping on the bare floor, but he knew that given time, it would soon disappear. Eventually, his phone stopped ringing until it started up again barely a minute later. Jane scrambled to pick it up and grinned when he saw who was calling. Eagerly, he pressed it to his ear and muttered a quick hello.

"We have a case," Lisbon said, without the preamble. "When can you get here?"

"Not before the afternoon."

Jane could practically imagine the sag in her shoulders in disappointment at his delay. The sound of her sighing told him enough as it was. Almost immediately, the desire to scoop her into his arms and apologize profusely for rushing off without telling her what he was doing rushed over his system. He trusted Lisbon with his life, cared deeply for her, _loved_ her even. There was no need for secrecy and lies, not anymore. They'd been through enough together for him to know that she would always be there for him, no matter what.

"How long will you be tied up at your house?" she asked.

His smile widened; he hadn't had to tell her where he'd gone, and yet, she'd known. Clearly, she had learned from the best and it was proof of just how well she knew him as well. His somber mood from the night before evaporated in an instant; the effect of hearing her voice was more than enough to do that. The desperate urge to climb in his car and drive straight to her was growing overwhelming. Everything else he needed to do when it came to the house could be dealt with long-distance; he had no need to remain in Malibu for a moment longer.

"I'm just about done," he said quickly. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

xxx

When he arrived at the CBI headquarters, the bullpen was practically deserted. Only Cho remained huddled behind his desk, studiously staring at his computer screen. This wasn't surprising; if there was a case, then Lisbon had probably gone to check out the crime scene or maybe even moved onto interviewing the relatives of the deceased. However, without even needing to be prompting, Cho told him that Lisbon had gone home 'for something'.

It didn't bother Jane in the slightest. If anything, it was probably better that he met her there rather than rushing to any old location and not really knowing what he'd find there. There was something in Cho's tone that suggested there wasn't a new case. He'd sounded bored, like he was sick of the monotony and waiting for something to happen. And he'd seen both Rigsby and Van Pelt's cars parked out front when he'd pulled into the parking lot…

A smirk toyed across his face. It almost seemed like Lisbon wanted to see him sooner, like she needed an excuse to get him back in Sacramento. Briefly, he toyed with the idea of playing with her. He could easily pretend that he'd gotten stuck in traffic and that he'd be late; he knew that Cho would back him up on that one, if he could find the right leverage. But then, he wanted to see her anyway. Jane wanted to get all thoughts of the house, of Red John, out of his mind. He needed to put Charlotte and Angela back in the corners of his mind where they would be safe from harm.

And he wanted to move onto the next phase.

It took him less than five minutes to get out of the CBI headquarters and back into his car.

xxx

He stood awkwardly at her door as he waited impatiently for Lisbon to answer. Jane found himself counting the seconds until she did so. When she finally appeared, he didn't wait for her to speak and he didn't say anything either. Instead, he reached out stroked her cheek gently. He was relieved when she didn't pull away or stop him from doing so. She just stared him directly in the eye and waited for his next move.

Jane leaned forwards and let his lips brush against hers. A smile ghosted across his lips when she enveloped him into a tight embrace and ran her fingers up and down his smile. After what felt forever, and yet, too soon, he deepened the kiss, running his tongue across her lower lip before she reciprocated. For a first kiss, it felt long overdue and he was determined to enjoy every lingering second of it. Eventually, he found that he was the one who had to pull away first, breathless. Coyly, she motioned for him to come inside and he did so willingly.

"There was no case?"

"I wanted to see you," she said simply. "How's everything with the house?"

"I'm getting rid of it," he answered by way of explanation.

"I figured."

"Enough about that," he muttered and brushed it aside with a wave of his hand. "How are you?"

"Fine," Lisbon answered abruptly.

"Really?" he asked, skeptical.

"Really. I just want to know where we go from here. I half expected you to leave after we caught-"

He took her hand and squeezed it tightly. In a way, he was surprised that she hadn't believed that he would come back again. His promise to leave after Red John was dealt with was old, invalid. Since they'd grown inexplicably ever closer, he'd never had any intention of leaving her side. However, the vow that he would always save her, whether or not she wanted him to? That was one he never intended to break. As far as Jane was concerned, he had years of making up to do – and between them, they both had a lot of lost time to make up for.

"I want to keep hold of you and never let you go. I want to wake up every morning with you by my side. I want to love you in the way that you deserve. I want to-"

In the end, she silenced him with a kiss. And in that moment, Jane knew that she was more than happy to go along with what he had just said. He was under no illusions that it was going to be easy; only a fool would believe that. However, he knew that what they had was enough.

And it always would be.


	43. Pleased

**A/N:** Thanks to WeBuiltThePyramids, Guest, Wldwmn, MerriWyllow, lil smiles, LetMeWalkTheEarthWithYou and April for reviewing _'Til the Morning After_.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Lesser of Two Evils  
**Author: ** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters: **Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary: **Lisbon bails Jane out after his most recent stunt gone wrong...  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine.  
**Notes: **Written for Katrina aka bromfieldhall in the Paint It Red Great Stocking Exchange 2012.

**Lesser of Two Evils**

Teresa Lisbon crossed her arms as she stared bitterly at the receptionist. The poor man behind the desk continually averted his gaze; it was almost as if he believed she was blaming him. It wasn't his fault that she was sat here, waiting, but it didn't stop her from being annoyed and more than willing to show it. For some reason, it felt like time was slowing down; every time she looked at the clock barely a minute seemed to have passed. She let out a heavy sigh and checked her watch. There were far more important things she could have been getting on with. Instead, she was stuck here, alone, waiting impatiently for a certain member of staff to deal with her.

Eventually, the sound of approaching footsteps broke up the monotony. A uniformed officer stopped in front of her and her heart almost sank at the large file clasped in his hands. She should have known that it would come down to this, but even so, Lisbon had more than enough of that to do at work. Wordlessly, the man motioned for her to follow and she obliged. He took her into his office, where he shut the door tightly behind them before regarding her.

"It's good to meet you, Agent Lisbon," the man started and proffered a hand, which Lisbon shook. "Though I wish it could have been under more amiable circumstances."

"Likewise, Detective O'Hara," she muttered. "Shall we..?"

"Of course," O'Hara answered back, sitting down. "You must be _very_ busy at the CBI."

She didn't acknowledge the statement either way. In truth, as interesting as it was for her to finally meet the newest director of the Sacramento Police Department, she still wanted this meeting over and done with. They should never have been introduced under such circumstances, and she was still angry about this. Again, O'Hara wasn't the reason for her frustration, but he was getting in her way. As soon as she had dealt with O'Hara, then she could go and deal with the specific individual who was the current cause of all her misery.

"About Patrick Jane," the man continued when Lisbon didn't respond. "You said on the phone this was a part of an undercover sting?"

"Yes. Jane was working undercover with members of my unit in order to find the persons responsible for the homicide investigation we're currently working on."

"And were you successful?"

"The case is still under investigation," she said bluntly.

There was no way she was going to share details of any of her cases with this new official in Sac P.D. Of course, if necessary, Lisbon found it easy enough to work with other agencies on cases. However, in this instance, there was no need to share details pertaining to the case. Besides, Lisbon was more than aware that she was lying through her teeth in order to get Jane off the hook. It was for the greater good, she told herself. From the very first time she'd met him, she'd realized that she wanted to save him from himself. If that meant she had to continue putting her career (and life) on the line, then so be it.

Eventually, she managed to persuade O'Hara that she was telling the truth, without having to 'compromise' the case she was working on. He understood perfectly well about confidentiality, and therefore, he didn't bother to press her too hard whenever she grew cagier. In a way, she felt a little guilty for this. Technically, O'Hara had been well within his rights and instead, she was making it appear that he had been in the wrong. He had no reason to be so apologetic, and yet, she was forcing him to apologize profusely. Silently, she told herself to make sure that Jane knew that he owed her for this.

But then again, Jane always owed her for _something_. When it came to him, there was absolutely no point in expecting repayment in kind. He barely had anything he could give, anyway. She was more than aware of what she had signed up for when Minelli put him under her charge. And she wasn't willing to back away any time soon. Sometimes, she simply saw him as being her personal challenge. The rest of the time, she knew that there was the innate goodness inside of him that was worth fighting for. Jane needed consistency, somebody he could rely on. As far as Lisbon was concerned, she was that person.

After she'd signed two different forms releasing Jane to her care, O'Hara sent for him to be released from the Sac P.D. holding cells. As he walked through the doors – still handcuffed, she noted – he wore a slightly sheepish expression on his features. Lisbon sent him a pointed look and he glanced away as one of the officers uncuffed him. Quickly, she stood up to give her wayward consultant another cursory look over before shaking O'Hara's hand one final time. At least now she could get him out of here, give him the dressing down he deserved and then, maybe, actually get on with the case they were supposed to be working on.

"I'm very sorry if we have compromised your case in any way, Agent Lisbon," O'Hara said as he led them out of the building. "If we had _known_ this was a part of your undercover sting, we would never have gotten involved."

"And thank _you_ for being so understanding," Lisbon replied primly and placed one hand on the small of Jane's back. "Come on, Jane."

xxx

It wasn't until they were back at the CBI headquarters when Lisbon started to get really angry with Jane again. During the brief drive back, she had remained in a stubborn silence, despite his many attempts to elicit some kind of response from her. Usually, she gave into him easily, but the bubbling pit of anger was still simmering in her stomach. This whole situation had given her a severe case of déjà vu; she could remember bailing out Tommy once and practically dragging him home by the ears, feeling completely humiliated by his actions. But then, Jane had reminded her of her errant brother on more than one occasion in the past. She knew she shouldn't have been surprised that sooner or later, she would end up having to persuade fellow law enforcement officers to let Jane off the hook.

He disappeared before she had a chance to reprimand him. In a way, she was glad for the brief reprieve. Jane already took up too much of her time and energy and she did need to try and recompose herself. However, she also knew that this wasn't going to be resolved by her ignoring it and sweeping it under the proverbial carpet. This was one of those situations where she was actually going to have to deal with it head on, otherwise it was going to keep eating her up from the inside. Eventually, Jane appeared at her office door with his teacup in one hand and her mug in the other.

"There's no need to look so pleased with yourself," she snapped as he placed the coffee on her desk. "Damn it, Jane. You got yourself arrested. Why?"

"I don't know. It seemed like fun. I've never been arrested by Sac P.D. before…"

"Really, Jane? _Really_?"

"We were trying to solve the case."

"You should have told me! And don't you dare claim that deniability is my friend."

He didn't answer. Jane took a sip of his tea and Lisbon had the irresistible urge to knock it straight out of her hand. Instead, she grabbed hold of one of her stress relievers and squeezed it tightly. Then, she let out a measured breath as she waited for a response which, deep down, she knew wasn't going to come.

"Well?" she eventually said.

"Well what?"

"Did you get anywhere?"

"No."

The silence enveloped them again once more and this time, it was as uncomfortable as ever. Considering his apparent lack of gratitude, Lisbon found herself seriously questioning why she even bothered. Really, she knew the answer to that, but it didn't stop the thoughts from toying in her mind. Jane was like an overgrown child, unappreciative, easily distractible and prone to mood swings. An apology wouldn't make everything better, but at least it would have been a start. However, this was Jane. He barely seemed to know when he done wrong, never mind bothered to try and make amends. It was times like this which made her think he might just have been a lost cause.

She ignored the coffee and turned back to her computer. Lisbon could feel Jane's eyes on her still, but it didn't bother her. Since he had joined her unit, she had grown used to working with an additional pair of eyes watching her each and every move. Besides, she'd said all she could to Jane without literally spelling out just how angry she was with him. And being him, she knew that he could read everything she _wasn't_ saying in her body language anyway.

"Hey, Lisbon?" he said after ten minutes of silence.

"Mhm?"

"I'm sorry."

There were occasions when she knew she wouldn't have been able to resist teasing him for actually managing to apologize. However, this wasn't one of those occasions. Besides, from the tone of his voice she could tell that he actually meant it, for a change.

"It's okay."


	44. Happy

**A/N: **Similar theme to the last one, but it's actually quite a different story. Also, the emotion associated with this story will make sense if you read right to the end. I promise...

Thanks to: Wldwmn, WeBuiltThePyramids and Katrina for reviewing _Lesser of Two Evils_.

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Subterfuge  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating: **T  
**Characters: **Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** Lisbon blasts Jane for his theatrics in front of the team, but is that all there is to the story?  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine.  
**Notes: **Dedicated to hollygolightly2010.

**Subterfuge**

"Damn it, Jane. Why?"

"I don't know. It seemed like fun at the time."

Lisbon rolled her eyes as Jane smirked back at her. She clenched her fists a couple of times and she could feel the eyes of the other three agents in her unit boring into her. It was like she could tell that they were judging her for her very public outburst, like they thought she was being excessive in her reprimanding of Jane. After all, this kind of reaction was one she usually served him behind closed doors. But they all knew she could have a short temper on occasion, so this wasn't completely out of character. And besides, he deserved it. He'd been incredibly lucky; he could have screwed up the case entirely and then, the perp would have gotten away with murder. Literally. And as a team leader – and as a unit as a whole – Lisbon knew that they couldn't stand for such a thing. It was their job to put them behind bars, not give them loopholes and technicalities in order for them to slip through the net. Slowly, she let out a measured breath.

It wasn't that Jane was trying her patience, it was just that she liked being in control. And seeing him standing there, grinning as if he hadn't a care in the world just annoyed her on occasion. She wished he could see just how much damage he could potentially cause. She wished he would just tell her these madcap plans so she could apply damage limitation before everything went wrong. And she wished that he would just apologize for his misdeeds. It wouldn't make everything better, but it would at least be a start. However, this was Jane. Lisbon suspected that he didn't even understand the meaning of the phrase 'I'm sorry', never mind having actual cause to use it.

"I should suspend you," she growled.

"But you won't," Jane added, sounding almost a little too cheerful.

"No, because then I'd have to explain why to my supervisor. Then, I'd have to tell him how your idiocy nearly caused the death of three civilians _and_ one of your co-workers. And then, he would accuse me of having little to no control over you."

She waited as the words settled in the bullpen. Lisbon had already heard the sharp intake of breath from a certain Grace Van Pelt. Eventually, the magnitude of what she had admitted seemed to actually be noticed and Jane's face fell. He stepped forwards to touch her shoulder with his left hand, but she moved away to maintain the distance between them. Sweet gestures like that weren't going to mend the damage he'd already done – and continued to do – in the workplace. What she really wanted from him was for him to actually learn where and when to stop. It was one thing keeping him around because he closed cases, but it was another entirely tirelessly mopping up after the messes he made.

"Lisbon, I'm-"

"You know what? I don't want to hear it," she snapped with a shake of the head. "Go to hell, Jane."

And with that, she stalked off, knowing that the quiet mutterings between the team would start almost as soon as she left. But she didn't care; she had let off steam instead of letting the anger fester away inside of her and it felt good.

xxx

She was flicking aimlessly through a new book on leadership when there was an abrupt knock on her front door. Lisbon paused for a second, considering whether or not to wait and let Jane in or wait for him to let himself in. Without even having to move, she knew it was him. Nobody else would bother disturbing her at this time of night. At least, she considered, he had decided to have the decency to actually knock for a change. But then, he already owned a copy of her key, so there was no need for him to go through such formalities. When he knocked for a second time, she let out a heavy sigh, hauled herself to her feet and opened the door.

Jane stood there with a bottle of red wine in one hand, a plastic box of food in the other, and a bouquet of roses underneath his arm. Lisbon quirked an eyebrow in his direction; she genuinely hadn't expected this and quickly relinquished him of the flowers and wine. Then, he placed a hand on her cheek and leaned in to place a chaste kiss on her lips. She didn't flinch, she didn't pull away, but she didn't deepen it either. Once they were behind closed doors, then maybe, things would be different. Soon enough, he broke it off and Lisbon motioned for him to come inside.

"I didn't expect this," she murmured as he closed the door for her.

"That was rather the point," he said with a grin and he placed the tub down on her table. "Come here."

Immediately, she obliged and when he kissed her for a second time in the space of two minutes, she played a more active role. Gently, she allowed her tongue to run across his bottom lip before he granted her access. She could feel him smiling as they shared the embrace and automatically, warmth spread across her body. It had been tortuous at work, practically waiting for this moment when they would be free to act precisely how they wanted to act. Eventually, when she began to feel light-headed due to the lack of oxygen in her lungs, she pulled away and gently stroked his cheek.

"I've missed you," he said.

"We've been apart for what?" she paused to glance at her watch. "Three hours?"

"That's not what I meant."

She could feel her cheeks burning in response to his statement. Of course, he meant that he'd missed the physical intimacy they shared behind closed doors. But there were many reasons for them to keep their relationship quiet and besides, they were still figuring out just how they worked together as a couple. It was difficult, trying not to blur the line between co-workers and lovers, but she thought they were doing an okay job.

"Were you really that angry with me today?" Jane asked.

"I was angry, but maybe not _that_ angry," she said, her voice quavering slightly. "Was it a bit much?"

Jane chuckled and nodded in response. She sighed, but he gave her a peck on the cheek before taking her hand and leading her through to the kitchen. It was too late now, but even so, she couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed. All she could do was hope that the team believed that she was still as irritated by Jane as ever, and that absolutely nothing else was going on between them. That was why she had acted in the way that she did.

"I made cannelloni. We should eat before it gets cold."

"Sounds perfect," she stated, with a warm smile.

And she meant it. As far as she was concerned, right now, there was nothing better than spending time with a certain Patrick Jane. From what she could tell, the feeling was entirely mutual.


	45. Joy

**A/N: **I seem to be rattling through this collection at the moment.

Thank you to: April, Wldwmn, LAurore, Brown Eyes Parker, LetMeWalkTheEarthWithYou and Lothiriel84 for reviewing _Subterfuge_.

I also am beginning to feel like my inner angst monster is being neglected. This is not good...

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Schadenfreude  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating: **T  
**Characters: **Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary: **schadenfreude: happiness at the misfortune of others. Lisbon finds herself over-analysing her and Jane's post-case reactions.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Mentalist; this was written purely for the joy of writing.  
**Notes:** for prompt 049. schadenfreude on mentalistprompt and the November 2012 Monthly Challenge on Paint It Red. Prompt: you never know. Also for little-firestar84.

**Schadenfreude**

"Sometimes I wonder about you."

"Only sometimes?" he quipped.

Lightly, she punched him on the arm before stealing a potato chip. Jane pouted in mock-hurt. Really, she knew that he didn't mind, but was making a big deal out of the situation just to see if he could make her apologize. However, she knew his games and was going to rise above them. Besides, he was the one who had suggested they watch some movies to chill out after their most recent case. It was a stressful one; it always was when powerful people who had their fingers in everything tried to have their say. Eventually, they had managed to dodge the political mine holes and actually catch their kill. Then again, when she had Jane on her side, it was only on very rare occasions when cases didn't end in success.

"Fine, most of the time," she said, correcting herself.

"And what in particular is troubling you this time?"

"You really seemed pleased when that CEO was guilty."

"What? He was an ass. He deserved it," Jane protested.

"And the wife deserved to see her husband go down in flames and lose all support for her family?"

"Well, no. But sometimes, it's good to see the right person get their comeuppance."

"True," she conceded.

However, the only joy she had gotten from the case was the same one as always: that justice had been served for the victim. With Jane, his thrill seemed to be that little bit deeper. Sometimes, it seemed like he took real pleasure out of seeing other people suffer. Briefly, she considered if that was because it made him feel better about his own demons. But then, this was the man who had shot the wrong man in his search of Red John, and somehow been able to reconcile it with his conscience. This was the man who had locked a living man in a coffin, tantamount to threatening to kill him, in order to get a confession. Patrick Jane was also the man who continually made things difficult for her, simply because he couldn't control himself.

And yet, she couldn't help but stick by him. She could see the innate sense of goodness inside of him. Lisbon knew that other cases provided a much needed distraction for him; they stopped him from being consumed by that desperate need for revenge. As far as she was concerned, the more 'other' cases they worked on, the better. Did it really matter if Jane got a cheap thrill from apprehending a murderer? What was the harm in him being pleased when an abhorrent person had their downfall? And who really cared if it made him forget about just how bleak his life could be, if only for a short while?

Then again, it was also somewhat hypocritical her judging him for such a reaction. With her lofty ideals about the law and justice, was she really any better? Lisbon would have been foolish to deny that she didn't get some pleasure in arresting somebody responsible for murder. She took pride in doing a job and doing it well. And Jane was right; she had been pleased when they'd arrested the CEO for the murder of his pretty receptionist, Lucie Sanders. It comforted her to know that he wouldn't be able to prey on another innocent girl and then take her life when he grew bored of her. It relieved her to know that another murder was off the streets and behind bars. And she liked the fact that it maintained the team's current streak of closed cases. Then, there was the fact she could give family and friends the answers they deserved. It was impossible to bring the girl back, but it made do as a consolation. It helped them get some sort of closure, something she understood all too well about. Maybe her joy wasn't purely about justice being served, after all.

"We did good," Jane added and Lisbon nodded in response.

"I guess," she replied, unsure about this self-congratulatory behavior.

Somebody had died, and yet, they were effectively congratulating themselves for a job well done. Surely their success should pale in comparison to the fact that somebody had lost a life in order to do so? Lisbon shook her head and grabbed another potato chip. Jane's hand rested comfortably on her inner thigh, but she didn't bother to move it away. She was just beginning to feel comfortable once again.

Even so, her over-analysis was beginning to drive her mad. She didn't usually react in such a way after a case; usually the mountain of paperwork drove any positive thoughts from her mind. Although she often used paperwork as an excuse to _not_ celebrate closing cases with the rest of her team, in reality it was this very feeling which drove it to one side. This was why she didn't celebrate too often. She didn't much like the idea of taking pride and pleasure in somebody else's suffering. Even if the man was a murderer, he was still a human being. He still had feelings. And besides, there wasn't just the pain to the man responsible, there was everyone else involved. Sometimes, Lisbon believed that the relatives and loved ones of the victim often had the greater burden. Once somebody was dead, there was nothing more that could be done for them. Capturing their murderer didn't bring the deceased back; it just stopped them from killing again and again.

The only reason she had agreed to watch movies with Jane was because he'd looked so forlorn and lost when he'd appeared at her office door. She could always tell when he was in dire need of a distraction of some variety and today was one of those days. In an instant, Lisbon had decided that the paperwork could wait; she'd much rather spend the time with a close friend and making sure he was alright. Now, all she had to do was stoically force herself to stop thinking about work and start thinking about the movie they were watching. The only thing was, she couldn't even remember what the plot was, and she took no pleasure in watching the male lead; he wasn't her type in the slightest.

Then again, even Lisbon was distinctly aware that she was pretty much only attracted to individuals with a certain damaged intensity. Especially so if they happened to have blue-green eyes and curled blond hair. She shook her head again and tried to dismiss those thoughts from her mind. Lisbon didn't know what the hell was wrong with her tonight; all she seemed capable of doing was thinking about completely inappropriate subjects. Jane was her friend and a coworker; he was too broken to think about anyone else. Wasn't he?

"This movie is terrible," she eventually stated, keen to find another distraction. "You have seriously bad taste, Jane."

"Well what do you suggest we watch?"

"I don't know. I don't even think I care. Just not this one," she replied.

"I think I can think of something else to do."

Carefully, he placed a hand on her cheek and then guided his lips to her own. Lisbon's heart thrummed erratically in her chest as he gently placed his lips to hers. She pulled away once her mind caught up with everything else and stared at him quizzically. Where the hell had that came from? Seconds ago, she had herself believing that Jane was practically incapable of feeling anything beyond close friendship for her. Now, he was displaying signs that he was thinking about anything _but_ friendship.

"You just kissed me," she said, stating the obvious.

"We can do it again if you like?" he responded, with a devilish grin on his face.

She shrugged her shoulders and closed the distance between them once more. If she was going to be thinking inappropriate things about her consultant, then it was much better that they did it together. Tomorrow, she decided, she would figure out the consequences. Tonight, all she wanted to do was live in the moment.


	46. Intrigued

**A/N: **With thanks to- Wldwmn, April, dancingthrough, Lothlorien Aeterna, WeBuiltThePyramids and April (again!) for reviewing Schadenfreude.

x tromana

* * *

**Title: **Sublimation  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating: **T  
**Characters: **Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** [noir-ish AU] In search for information on the killer of his family, Red John, Patrick Jane pursues Teresa Lisbon.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Mentalist; this was written purely for the joy of writing.  
**Notes:** Written for justlook3

**Sublimation**

Smoke cloyed in the air as Patrick Jane wove his way through the crowd and to the bar. He wasn't looking for alcohol; that clouded his senses too much, and his intuition was what he prided himself upon. Instead, he was looking for information. Specifically, he was looking for information from one individual. Jane ignored the beautiful women who fluttered their eyelashes at him, the men who offered him cigarettes and determinedly, he carried on walking with his one focus in mind.

When he saw her, clad in a little black number, with red high heeled shoes and twirling an unlit cigarette between her forefinger and her thumb, he smiled. Her dark hair curled in at her shoulders, leaving her exposed back to be admired by many. Jane couldn't see her face, but he could imagine the haunted look behind her blue-green eyes and her ruby red lips in a tight pout.

She was precisely who he was looking for.

Whispers, rumors and speculation had clung to the air as much as the cigarette smoke did.

This woman knew about the man he was seeking. If he could press her buttons in just the right way, then maybe, there was half a chance that she would be willing to divulge all of her secrets into him.

Patrick Jane was a master manipulator and little more than a con-artist. If anyone could bend and break a woman, it was him. All he had to do was discover the chinks in her armor, the cracks in her shiny veneer. Then, he would have her simultaneously eating out of the palm of his hand and singing like a songbird. And then, he'd be able to get precisely what he needed from her.

Of course, the main problem was getting her to do just that first.

Wordlessly, he sat down on the barstool beside her. She glanced briefly in his direction, before staring aimlessly at the display of alcoholic beverages in front of her. Jane smiled and continued to stare at her. Eventually, she began to squirm slightly underneath his heavy gaze and reluctantly, she turned to face him. Her pretty features were marred by the scowl written all over her face, but she didn't seem to care. He watched as she tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear before she looked at him arrestingly.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

"Barkeep," Jane called, clicking his fingers and turning away from her for the first time in five minutes.

The man was there within seconds. Just as any good bartender should be, even in this day and age.

"A scotch on the rocks for me, and whatever the lady's having."

"Who said I want a drink?"

"Why else would a beautiful woman like you be sitting in a bar like this?"

She shrugged and looked away. He should have known; anybody with information about the man he was looking for – who was still alive – had to be a tough customer. Even so, he was a persistent soul. This was something he needed to investigate, and he wasn't going to let her get away with it that easily.

"Need a light?"

"No," she replied and soon enough, the cigarette disappeared.

Jane continued trying to make conversation, but she shot him down with each and every answer. He expected that, but it didn't stop him from trying. There were skills he could try and use, but he wanted to try the softly-softly approach first. He couldn't risk scaring her away, or worse, panicking and being killed by the man he presumed was her master.

When she disappeared into the smoke, he couldn't deny that his ego had been bruised by the failure.

But he was still relentless. He still had a chance.

xxx

Every day, he figured out where she would be going and when she would be there. He tried to slot himself into her life as much as feasibly possible; he wanted to either make himself indispensable to her, or alternatively irritate her into actually opening up.

Sometimes, he believed he was getting somewhere. When she reluctantly accepted a drink for the very first time, or let him pay for a taxi cab ride home. But equally, she managed to turn off in an instant. The look behind her eyes became dead, distant. It was like her very spirit had been squashed. Then, she became impossible to interact with, she was moody and snappish. She stalked away, and managed to disappear into the ether with a click of her impossibly high heels.

Jane hoped that his efforts would come to fruition, and soon. There were other avenues he could have been exploring in order find the man he was looking for. However, he was less certain about them; he believed they were more likely to be red herrings. That was why he was putting all of his faith into her. She had to give him the payoff that he craved.

Didn't she?

xxx

"Mr. Jane," she remarked slowly over her drink. "Why do you insist upon following me around?"

He took up her wrist and slowly started to draw gentle circles across her skin. The action alone usually made women go weak at the knees. But this woman wasn't any old woman. She stared at him unflinchingly and didn't pull away. Instead, she allowed him continue with his ministrations as she took a slow and steady drink. She wanted an answer and she wasn't going to leave until he gave her one.

"Because you have something you want to tell me," he answered carefully and a wry smile briefly crossed his features. "Teresa."

"Do I?"

"You do."

"Maybe I don't. Maybe you have the wrong woman."

"I don't make mistakes."

"Please. Everyone does," she said dryly and tossed her hair down her bare back. "My current mistake? Entertaining anything you have to say, of course."

"Harsh. But possibly fair."

She fell silent and pulled away from him. Moments later, she gathered together her belongings – purse, vesta case, her jacket, and swept out of the bar. Jane knew that he would see her again. However, the question was, when?

xxx

He returned home to find his telephone ringing. Jane never received telephone calls, so he rushed to answer it.

When he heard Teresa's breathless voice on the other end of the line, he wasn't surprised.

What she had to say did, however: _my place, tonight, 11.30pm. Come alone._

Before he even had a chance to answer, she had rung off. But he had no arguments; of course he was going to go and see her. Jane found himself almost laughing at the irony. He'd wanted to have her at his beck and call, but now, it seemed like the reverse had occurred.

And he couldn't be happier about that. He knew he would be able to turn this into his advantage.

Naturally the moment the allotted time came around, he knocked three times on her front door and waited patiently for an answer.

xxx

Mouths met.

Doors closed.

Clothes shed.

Bed found.

Mouths parted

Fingers trailed.

Physical intimacy.

This wasn't exactly what he expected when he turned up on her doorstep, but he was more than happy to accept it nevertheless.

xxx

Come morning, she prepared eggs for him and they sat in a companionable silence for the duration of the meal. She still hadn't uttered a word relevant to his investigations, but he suspected it was coming soon. Teresa was uncharacteristically nervous; on numerous occasions, she selected a cigarette, only to put it back away again, and then repeated the action. Unlike him, who was more than happy to eat the entirety of his breakfast, she spent most her time pushing it around the plate.

When he was done, he took hold of her wrist. This time, she flinched. She was definitely nervous; she definitely felt uncomfortable. But somehow, he needed her to open up. Jane found himself almost missing the unflappable Teresa he had been spending time with for weeks. This new Teresa nearly made him feel nervous, too.

"Have you heard of Red John?" he enquired gently.

Again, she froze at the mention of his name.

"Maybe," Teresa replied coyly. "You'll have to tell me more."

"Liar."

"You got me. Of course I've heard of Red John."

"You know him?"

"Not personally. Why do you want to know?" she questioned.

And then, he explained. How his wife and daughter were brutally murdered by the serial killer after he discovered that Jane was investigating him as a part of his Private Eye business. How, after months of allowing the loss to nearly destroy him, he'd instead used it to spur him on. He needed to catch Red John, and he needed to honor his family. Jane explained how many of the avenues led to Teresa herself, and therefore, it made sense to pursue her.

She listened attentively and didn't flinch, even at the gory details. Part of Jane suspected that, from her very demeanor, she probably knew what Red John was like anyway. But then, that wasn't a surprise. If she did have information on him, or she was connected to him in some way, then of course she would have already known. However, he still needed to give her his personal insight into the situation. It was the only way to persuade her to break, or at least, confide in him.

"And you think I can help?" she asked.

"I was led to believe that you are a part of Red John's inner circle," he stated bluntly.

"Well I'm not," Teresa replied sharply, before adding, "yet."

"Yet?"

"I'm investigating him myself. I'm trying to infiltrate, but _you_ have been ruining my plans."

Jane spent a second pondering her statements. From her body language, her facial expressions, even her pulse rate, he could tell she was being entirely truthful. There wasn't any deceit or lies that she was trying to conceal. She really was trying to infiltrate Red John's circle in order to bring him down from the inside. How a pretty little thing like her could ever survive seemed like a wonder to him. But then, there was something special about her. Maybe it wasn't _that_ surprising, after all.

"I think we should work together, instead of against one another then."

"Not sure if I could compete with your ego," she remarked, smirking.

"Believe me, Teresa; you've done more damage to my ego in these past three months than anybody else has ever managed. Do we have a deal?"

"I'll think about it."

"I won't leave until you say yes."

"Fine, yes. Okay. Now what do you intend we do next?"

He smiled. He was expecting her to relent, but maybe not quite as quickly as that. At least she seemed to have fallen for his charms. And as far as he was concerned, the feeling was entirely mutual.

This was going to be the start of a very beautiful relationship.


	47. Secretive

**A/N: THIS ONESHOT CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR 5x08 RED SAILS IN THE SUNSET. READ ON AT YOUR OWN RISK.**

Now I've got that out of the way...**  
**

Thank you to: WeBuiltThePyramids, 666BloodyHell666, LetMeWalkTheEarthWithYou, Wldwmn, lolly2222, April and vanrigsby for reviewing _Sublimation_.

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Counterplay  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating: **T  
**Characters:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Summary:** She knows. Episode tag to 5x08 Red Sails in the Sunset.  
**Spoilers:** 5x08 Red Sails in the Sunset  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Mentalist; this was written purely for the joy of writing.  
**Notes:** Written for ch19777. Also written for the Paint It Red November 2012 Monthly Challenge. Title shamelessly borrowed from Divinia Serit.

**Counterplay**

She knew.

She knew he had hatched the plan to spring Lorelei Martins from federal prison.

She knew that he hadn't been kidnapped by her, but instead, that they had taken off together.

She knew that this was yet another one of his plans to try and break Lorelei.

To try and get more information on Red John.

To try and kill the serial killer before she had a chance to arrest the bastard.

She also knew that Jane had been the one to hatch Lorelei's escape plan.

She knew he had crashed the car on his own, after Lorelei had left the cabin.

She knew that Jane had lied to her on that front too. Lorelei wasn't on foot; she had a vehicle and had, once again, slipped between their fingers.

This time, it wasn't the FBI (or Red John's) doing, it was Jane's himself.

Once they had discovered that the FBI had moved Lorelei into a different federal prison, Lisbon knew they could have gotten her back with legal means. A judge ruling had concluded that Lorelei was their prisoner, and thus, the FBI had acted illegally (and in a petty manner) by spiriting her away before she and Jane had even had a chance to question her.

Instead, Jane had decided to take it into his own hands and to pull this crazy stunt. He'd forgotten that Lorelei was _their_ suspect, not the FBI's, and that they had the law on their side. Now, because of his actions and reactions, they had nothing. The only Red John acolyte to be apprehended held behind bars and to survive, had now gone.

Lorelei had probably, straight back into the serial killer's arms. She had most likely updated Red John on every case development she had learned since being in custody. They were probably laughing at how idiotic the CBI (and FBI) were. Mocking how little they knew. Planning what move to carry out next, just to prove how dangerous that Red John was.

This had probably been their back-up plan all along. When Jane failed to hand over Lisbon in order to become 'closer' to Red John, they had most likely planned for Lorelei to be apprehended. Decided that she would be capable of pulling the wool over Jane's eyes. Used her to infiltrate the CBI, instead of Jane infiltrating Red John's inner circle.

It seemed so obvious now, and Lisbon couldn't believe how foolish she had been not to see otherwise.

But Jane…

He believed wholeheartedly that Lorelei would break for him.

He believed she would come back.

He believed that she would give him Red John.

Lisbon didn't believe any of that.

She didn't trust the woman to have a conscience.

She didn't trust the woman to do the right thing.

She didn't trust Jane to share the information with her, either.

Jane believed this was for the greater good.

Jane believed that this was the only way to make Lorelei see sense.

Jane believed anything, if he thought that it would give him a solid lead to Red John.

Lisbon knew all this. Over the years, Jane had grown increasingly reckless every time he even saw a whisker of hope in getting one step closer to Red John. Thus far, she knew there was only one price that Jane wouldn't be willing to pay, and that was her life. Three times now, Lisbon had been directly threatened by Red John or one of his followers. And on each of the three occasions, she had survived by the skin of her teeth. On one of those occasions, Jane saved her life. And she thought that meant something.

Doesn't it?

Only she stood by Jane through the thick and think.

Only she endured him whenever he's off on one of his crazy plans.

Only she was still there to pick up the pieces afterwards.

And only she really knew what he was like these days.

Sometimes, she hoped that that was enough. That it would stop him from doing anything reckless, from losing his life to Red John. Lisbon hoped that she was teaching him that life was still worth living, that he could move on from the death of his family and that contrary to popular belief, he was still a good person. Days like this made her lose faith a little, but Lisbon still remained steadfast in her belief that she could save him.

Some people claimed that she had a complex when it came to saving broken individuals. Lisbon knew that these claims were entirely justified, but she wasn't about to go and fight against it. If she believed there was something worth saving in somebody, then she was going to fight tooth and nail in order to save them. She'd failed when it came to her father, and she wasn't going to lose Jane without putting in a good fight. Somebody had to do it, and as far as she was concerned, that somebody was her.

After all, she understood Jane's desperation to catch the person responsible for his wife and daughter's murder. She had been there herself, when her mother had died when she was just thirteen. Lisbon had seen it in the faces of so many people, from so many different walks of life, within her job. That was why she fought every day to capture these murderers. It may have seemed like she was fighting in vain, but if one less criminal was roaming the streets, and one more family had the answers they craved, then she considered it a job well done.

She wished that he would trust her enough to open up to her.

She wished that he could understand that she was with him through this trial.

She wished she could just find and arrest Red John, so that Jane could have the closure he deserved.

And she wished that she had good reason to trust _him_.

That was why she hadn't arrested him when she had found that stick in the car after he'd been removed from it. That was why she had lied when she had told him she'd have arrested him if she had evidence that he was involved in Lorelei Martin's escape. That was why she was intent on keeping him close.

Lisbon knew that Jane was a dangerous man. She knew that, by doing this, she was positioning herself between Red John and Patrick Jane. It was crazy, and dangerous, and could well result in her death. She had been lucky three times, who was to say that she would maintain it for a fourth?

But, it was safer to have Jane nearby, instead of out of sight, and thus, out of her control.

Wasn't it?


	48. Hot

**A/N:** With thanks to: WeBuiltThePyramids, Wldwmn and Miss Peg for reviewing Counterplay.

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Someone Like You  
**Author:** tromana  
**Summary:** Being trapped in the middle of nowhere causes Jane to come across some stark realizations.  
**Characters/Pairings:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Notes:** for Lothiriel84, and the Paint It Red December 2012 Monthly Challenge too. Inspired by 'Someone Like You' by Russell Watson and Faye Tozer

**Someone Like You**

The sweat slicked down his back as he stared aimlessly out of the SUV. The outskirts of the desert were probably one of the most impractical places that they could have broken down, but it was always the way. Thankfully, Jane knew that Lisbon had still had signal on her cellphone and thus, all could do was wait (several hours) for rescue. He watched as she returned to the vehicle, slammed the door behind her and grabbed a bottle of water. Slowly, she took a sip of it. At least they had food and drink; Lisbon was always meticulously organized when cases took them to far flung places. Unlike him; he tended to run into these kinds of situations head first, without bothering to think of the consequences.

She remained silent for a while and was clearly frustrated with the situation they had found themselves in. The CBI was underfunded, especially at the moment, and thus, it was hardly surprising when equipment failed. However, the timing couldn't have been much worse. The beginnings of cases were always crucial; if they left things for too long then there was always the chance that a lead would go stale and the criminal would slip through their fingers. And because the car had broken down, they were now being forced to waste precious time doing nothing at all.

At least, he decided, that the company couldn't have been all that much better. If he could have chosen anybody to be stuck in the middle of nowhere with, then Teresa Lisbon would easily have topped the list.

"We'll be fine," Jane said in order to break the silence.

"I know."

"It's just frustrating."

"Yeah," he agreed.

Conversation quickly turned to the case in hand. Considering he had very little else to do, Jane was more open than usual about his hunches and he could tell that Lisbon appreciated it. He knew that she still didn't entirely trust him, and he couldn't blame her for that. After all, how many times had he betrayed her, how many times had he shut her out? He had never really given her good cause to trust him, however much he craved it. Jane closed his eyes briefly; how many chances did he have left with her? She was still around, still hadn't bothered to kick him out to the curb. That said a lot, really. Perhaps it was time to start a clean slate. Maybe then, he would be able to prove to Lisbon that he was actually worth all the effort that she had put into him.

Subject matters changed the moment they had exhausted the current case. As always, the conversation flowed naturally. Having spent years in Lisbon's company, Jane knew exactly what to talk about and what subjects that he generally needed to avoid. Not since his wife had he found somebody he could talk to quite so easily and Jane loved her for it. Regardless of how little he showed it, Jane knew that Lisbon was inordinately special to him. She had slipped into his life in just the right place and time. He knew that he needed her and sometimes, he even found himself hoping that the feeling was reciprocated. But then, it was a complicated situation. The shadow of Red John still haunted them and Jane struggled to see the light at the end of the tunnel sometimes.

"Do you ever think about after Red John?" Lisbon suddenly asked, a little quieter than she ordinarily would have done.

Jane remained silent. Of course he thought about after Red John. It was something that plagued his mind on a regular basis. As far as he was concerned there were three potential outcomes, each as likely as the next. He tried not to linger on any of them for too long; it was either too depressing to think about, or gave him the false hope that prevented him from focusing on the task in hand.

He knew that he was either going to end up dead, and then 'after' Red John didn't really affect him in any way whatsoever. Then, there was the distinct possibility that he would succeed in his task of bringing the serial killer down, and thus, would end up on death row, or simply behind bars for the rest of his life, if he were lucky. The third option was significantly more variable, and there was a chance it would never happen at all, however much he wanted it to. That was mostly because it relied upon Lisbon herself making a certain few decisions. If he had the choice, then he would have genuinely loved to spend the rest of his life with her, whether that was as friends or something more. The more he tried to deny the fact he was in love with her, the more he realized that he couldn't deny it at all. But his hands were tied; he'd already caused the death of his family, he wasn't willing to put somebody else's life into jeopardy.

But then, this was Lisbon. She would probably claim that her life was in jeopardy regardless of whether or not he was present in it. Early on in their relationship, she had once claimed that it was a part of the job description, ergo, he shouldn't worry about having an adverse effect on her. But she had also claimed that she didn't need saving, not least by him. And he also knew that there were certain feelings for him stirring inside of her. She was remarkably good at hiding her feelings these days, but still not good enough to fool him. Even so, Jane knew he was metaphorically paralyzed to the spot. There was nothing he could do about their relationship, or where it could go at this moment in time. Assuming he knew what was best for Teresa Lisbon was almost as dangerous as trying to outfox Red John himself. Almost.

"Jane? Are you okay?"

He shook his head abruptly. "I'm gonna go walk for a bit. Get some fresh air."

She eyed the open windows warily but shrugged her shoulders. Jane quickly vacated the vehicle and took in some gulping breaths of hot air. It was just as hot outside of the car as it was inside, but that didn't surprise him in the slightest. Part of him wanted to turn back and grab his bottled water just to quench his dry throat. However, that meant facing Lisbon again and he didn't feel ready to do that. He didn't quite know what it was about this situation, but everything in his mind felt messed up. Something had unlocked inside of his brain, and he was desperately trying to put everything back in its place.

Within five minutes, Lisbon ventured outside of the car too. Jane was simultaneously pleased and disappointed. He hadn't had enough time to make sense of everything. Without a word, she handed over the bottle of water and he nodded his gratitude to her. As he took a sip, he thought seriously about it. What, precisely, was stopping them beyond Red John? Why not here? Why not now? He was getting sick and tired of all the excuses that he was making himself now. He knew that he needed her, and he knew that she could protect them both. Red John wasn't really the issue; in reality he never had been. Of course he was a threat, but how much longer could they cope with living in denial? If he didn't pluck up the courage soon, then the spark could easily just fizzle out into nothingness.

He cast aside the bottle and instinctively, placed a hand on both sides of her face. Lisbon didn't move aside and she didn't flinch either. Instead, she just stared him pointedly in the eyes and waited for him to make his next move. She did, after all, have the patience of a saint when she wanted to. She knew that he simply needed a little more time to pull together his senses. Just as he was about to draw her in for a kiss, and just when he finally felt ready, her cellphone rang and she immediately pulled away.

Jane couldn't have been more annoyed about the timing if he even tried.

xxx

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," she echoed with a wry smile.

The cool air-conditioned space of Lisbon's office still felt like a blessed reprieve, even one hour after they had arrived back at the headquarters. Tentatively, Jane took a seat opposite her and Lisbon quirked an eyebrow in his direction. Clearly, she was waiting for him to make the next move. He wrung his hands several times and took a deep breath. He couldn't screw this up and yet, the more he delayed, the more he suspected he was doing just that.

"About earlier…" he started but quickly trailed off.

"It's forgotten," she replied quickly and glanced away.

"What if I don't want it to be?"

"What do you mean, Jane?"

Immediately, he leant forwards and placed a soft, tender kiss on her lips. He pulled away almost as quickly as it started and watched as she comprehended what he had done. Then, she stood, walked around her office and kissed him fiercely. His breath caught in the back of his throat as his hands somehow found their way onto her back. Jane ran his hands up and down her spine and let out a small moan when she finally pulled away.

For so long now, he had been trying to find something that felt right in his life again. He hadn't even realized that was what he'd been looking for, but it was. The whole Red John debacle had been causing him to bury his head in the sand, to make excuses when there really shouldn't have been any, to avoid putting himself in such a situation out of a fear he might just get hurt. In truth, he had stopped living and it was only through Lisbon's careful guidance that he had remembered there was so much more to life. Red John wouldn't get in their way, because neither of them would let him.

He was loved and he was worth it.

And the only woman that he needed had been staring him in the face all along.


	49. Doubtful

**A/N:** Penultimate piece in this collection.

Thanks to: Little-Firestar84, Lothlorien Aeterna, LAurore, Wldwmn, MerriWyllow, AprilVV, Lothiriel84 and LetMeWalkTheEarthWithYou for reviewing_ Someone Like You_.

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Tied Together With a Smile  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating: **T**  
Summary:** you're tied together with a smile, but you're coming undone.  
**Characters/Pairings:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Spoilers: ** spoilers for 5x05 Red Dawn  
**Notes:** Written for 17th Dec on the PIRvent Calendar. Also for Toya in the Stocking Swap.

**Tied Together With a Smile**

You know the smile is a fake.

Sure, other women fall for it all the time. They're lured in by the ancient eyes and the bright grin, and they fall head over heels in love with it, with him. It makes their hearts beat faster, makes their blood run warmer and makes them desperate to get to know him.

But you're not jealous; you know his whole act is a fake.

And you know he's getting worse, that the flaws between the lines are becoming more and more obvious by the day.

That's only if you know what you're looking for, of course.

But most people don't. Most people prefer the fake one, the one with the cheerful smile, sunshiny Patrick Jane. It's easier to handle than the alternative.

But you're not one for lies. You prefer the honest truth, however dark and gory it might be.

And you want to make his smiles real for a change.

In some respects, he's far better than he once was. You can remember the day he first shambled into your office, looking like he was in dire need of a good meal, a long hot shower, a change of clothes and a decent night's sleep.

You can remember how he changed, for you. Made sure that he fitted into society's ideals, for you. How he tried to please only you.

You have to wonder if he would have been capable of doing it for anybody else. Sometimes, you doubt it. On other occasions you realize that you were simply lucky. It was the case of being in the right place, at the right time. Somebody else would have taken pity on Jane and made him clean up. He'd have paired himself with them, instead of you.

And maybe, they would have had a better chance of getting him to actually listen to them, instead of just taking her instructions 'under advisement'.

But then, he only started doing that after he'd cleaned up, and after you had given him a purpose in life.

It doesn't mean that said purpose isn't destroying him as much as it helped in the beginning, however.

Chasing Red John had given Jane a will to live and that would have been absolutely fine, if only you'd managed to apprehend him five years ago. Then, Jane would have had his closure, been able to move on and settle down in his life. Maybe, he'd have found himself another wife, gone on to have more kids, and had a new family.

You know he's too far gone for such a thing.

The reason to live has well and truly turned into an obsession, complete with a fake smile and false happiness.

Desperately, you try and claw him back. You realize the grave mistakes you've made and you're well and truly sorry for them. However, being 'sorry' is not going to save Patrick Jane. There has to be something, anything else that you could do.

You only wish you knew what.

xxx

It takes a lot of effort to get Teresa Lisbon to smile, even for you.

But then, she's a serious soul who is single-minded in her life. She's driven by honesty, justice and to a certain extent, her religion. It takes a lot to faze her, but that's probably a good thing. Otherwise, how would she have been able to cope with someone like you?

And she's single-minded in her effort to save you.

She thinks you're falling apart at the seams, she believes you're too engrossed in your desire to capture and kill Red John. What was once a reason to get up in the mornings has now become a daily obsession, or so she believes.

And to some extent, she's probably right too.

You know you won't be able to feel truly at peace until Red John is six feet under.

You won't really be able to move on with your life until he is gone.

And you won't ever be able to compartmentalize your family until you can stop thinking about them _because_ of the serial killer.

You wish you could move on.

You wish you could be happy.

You know who you could be happy with, if only you had the opportunity.

But she's so scared you'll break if she even dares touch you. She's terrified that you're losing your grip on sanity.

And she thinks that you hide behind the sunny smile and a fabricated cheerful demeanor.

However any smiles you share with her are as genuine as the ones you fight for from her in return. She makes you happy.

You wouldn't have listened to anyone but her, back in the day. There was something in her demeanor when you first met her, which meant you intrinsically knew you could trust this woman.

And to this day, she has not once let you down.

Which is far more than you can say in return.

You feel guilty for the times you've betrayed her. You hate the fact you've hurt her so many times in the past. You even find it difficult to cope with the fact you've damaged your career.

But everything you do now, you do for her. Not your family, not your daughter, but her.

One day in the future, there may be half a chance that you could be together. That's if she'll be able to accept a man who's a little bit broken, but you think she will. After all, you know that you've been her personal project since the very beginning.

But it can't happen yet. Not until Red John is dealt with. It's too dangerous, too risky. You know all too well that the serial killer cannot stand to see you happy. He believes you deserve to wallow in misery since you slighted him all those years ago. He doesn't believe that you deserve a second chance.

Not like she does.

Eventually, you'll prevail.

Eventually, you can be truly happy.

But for now, you'll deal in false smiles.


	50. Torn

******A/N: **Last of this collection. Thank you to everyone who has favourited/followed and joined me on this ride. Now, I have another question: another series of oneshots like this one, or do I just post oneshots individually from now on? Which method of posting would be easier for you to follow?

Thank you to: Lothlorien Aeterna, WeBuiltThePyramids, 666BloodyHell666, Phosphorescent, Wldwmn, MerriWyllow, Ketatha, Lothiriel84 and janesbiotch for reviewing Tied Together With a Smile.

x tromana

* * *

******Title:** Requiem**  
****Author:** tromana**  
****Rating: **T******  
Summary:** falling in love is possibly the worst thing they could have done.**  
****Characters/Pairings:** Jane/Lisbon**  
****Warnings: **major character death.**  
****Notes:** Written for kathiann in the Great Stocking Swap.**  
**

**Requiem**

She crawled up the bed to capture his lips with her own. Jane hummed at the contact and immediately, his hands began to rake up and down her bare back. Pale sunlight filtered through the gaps in her curtains, illuminating her skin. As far as Teresa Lisbon was concerned, it didn't matter. After all, Patrick Jane seemed to be enjoying the view and that was the main thing. There had been a time when she had only lived for her job. She still did, in some respect, but now she also lived for him. There was nothing more that she wanted than to make him happy. God knew that he deserved it, after all he'd been through.

And she probably did too, but Lisbon wasn't one to think about things like this.

They were playing a dangerous game, really. It was still obvious that Red John believed Jane to be his man and nobody else's. He'd chosen him as a nemesis and a rival. He almost wanted to adopt him as a friend, as bizarre as that sounded. Deep down, Lisbon almost believed that they had a mutual respect for one another. It was clear that they kept the other on their toes; they had been dancing around each other for far too long now. In reality, Red John should have been behind bars years ago and it was only his sheer intelligence and ingenuity that had kept him free.

But now, they had started something more. Just like Red John and Jane, Lisbon had found herself dancing around Jane too. Almost since Jane had started working for her unit, she had been able to acknowledge that she was at least somewhat attracted to him. And then, she had promptly ignored it, boxed it away for future reference. Jane was damaged and broken; he wasn't capable of loving another individual.

Until he apparently was, of course.

The sudden change of demeanor had taken Lisbon completely off-guard. A few slipped words had plagued on her mind. He had suddenly become more attentive, more possessive and more jealous if she ever dared to pay attention to another man. He acted as if she belonged to him and nobody else. And then, in the blink of an eye, he had suddenly started kissing her and she had responded more eagerly than she had ever anticipated. Now, they found themselves in their current situation. They had to act as if they were naughty schoolchildren, caught in an illicit act and trying to hide it from their parents. They were spinning themselves a web of lies and deceit. The worst part of it all, in Lisbon's opinion at the very least, was that it was over something that was theoretically good and beautiful. There shouldn't have been any need for them to lie.

Except for the simple fact that there was a need for them to lie about it, because, lying was all that was currently saving their lives.

If Red John found out, then neither of them doubted he would take action.

The serial killer couldn't bear to see Jane happy. That much was obvious. He seemed convinced that Jane hadn't learned his lessons, or at the very least, deserved to repay for his past sins by living a life doomed to misery and despair. It didn't matter that he had changed for the better, what mattered was the past.

But she had always known there was a good man hiding within that husk she had been presented with. She had helped him piece himself back together again, and to find that innate goodness that had always been there. And now, he was happier than he had ever been. He was almost whole again, because he would never be able to forget what had happened to his family. But he had at least been able to put the past behind him, where it belonged and move on with his life. He had chosen to move on with her too, and for Lisbon, that meant everything. She knew that she was willing to have him, even if it was only behind closed doors.

"We have work," she mumbled when his hands strayed lower down than she would have ideally liked. "We need to get up."

"But my dear, if I recall correctly," he started and she knew that he was Jane; of course he recalled correctly. "You were the one to wake me up like this. And it's a very nice way to wake up indeed."

Slowly she crawled off of him and he captured her hand to place a kiss on her palm. Shaking her head, Lisbon pulled it away. She hadn't been lying; they didn't really have time for this. However, she hadn't been able to resist his sleeping form. All she had wanted to do was feel close to him for just a few minutes longer, before she had to return to the strict professionalism of work. She deserved that luxury in the space of her own home, didn't she?

He continued to steal kisses from her as they prepared for the daily grind. Any objections that Lisbon made were lame and pitiful, and she knew it. But then, who could blame her for acting in such a way when Patrick Jane was practically worshipping at her altar? As much as he had come to life since their romance had kindled, he had reawakened her too. He had reminded her that she wasn't just a cop, just the senior agent for the CBI's Serious Crimes Unit. She was a woman too, and needed to be loved as much as the next person.

They left for work in separate cars, as usual. Before she locked up her home, their home, really, if she thought about it, he snatched one more kiss on the doorstep. She waved slightly as he disappeared to his car. He always arrived earlier than she did, because the rest of the team always expected him to be there before anybody else arrived. It was a part of their ruse, but Lisbon still hated saying goodbye to him at home. It was torture, seeing him every day at work, but not being able to do what she wanted, when she wanted to him. Sometimes, it would have just been nice to show a small public display of affection. Lisbon understood the necessity to keep everything under wraps, but that didn't mean it was easy.

Little did she know that their subterfuge was all in vain, because that morning, their every move was being watched by the one and only person they _didn't _want to know about them.

xxx

"I have to go away for a bit."

"Why?"

The question fell from Lisbon's lips before she even had a chance to stop it. In general, she respected Jane's privacy and his need for space. Usually, his flights of fancy only ever took place on special dates relating to his family. She understood that these were things he needed to do on his own and left it at that. Lisbon also knew that, now, he was entirely honest to her when it came to Red John. He had to be, because it was the only thing keeping the both of them safe, and her more so than him. One day, they would apprehend him, and the nightmare of Red John would all be over. Jane had even agreed to give up on his quest of murder, for her.

Jane smiled slightly in response to her question, but he didn't give her a straight answer. Lisbon knew that it wasn't his wedding anniversary, nor the anniversary of his wife and child's deaths, nor was it either of their birthdays. That was why her curiosity was piqued and ultimately, it was why she had asked the question in the first place. He took her hand into his own, kissed her knuckles before squeezing it tightly. She smiled weakly in response.

"It's nothing bad, Teresa, don't worry," he said in a cool and soothing voice. "It won't be for long either; a couple of days at most."

She nodded. She would have to accept his word for it, and the fact that she wasn't going to get an answer out of him.

It didn't stop it from bothering her, though. It never did.

xxx

He didn't return after a couple of days.

It was then that she started worrying.

xxx

After two weeks, she took the investigation into her own hands. He hadn't answered any of her texts and calls, much of which were growing increasingly frantic. It reminded her of the time he had spent those six long months away from her, in a ruse to make Red John believe he had given up. On that occasion, they had managed to arrest Lorelei Martins, but Lisbon could still remember the feelings of hurt and betrayal like it was yesterday. Still, she wasn't about to pass it onto the Missing Persons Unit. They didn't know and understand Jane like she did. They wouldn't have known where to start looking for him. Maybe, if her quests proved to be fruitless, then she would ask for assistance and officially report him as missing. However, she needed to try on her own first.

She felt uncomfortable during the long drive to Malibu. Part of Lisbon felt like she was invading Jane's privacy. If he had believed she needed to know where he was going, then he would have told her. If it was something to do with Red John, then equally, he would have informed her, wouldn't he? She had no reason not to trust him, not anymore. They had long since rebuilt those bridges and their relationship – both professional and private – was stronger than ever. However, that little itch at the back of her mind begged to differ. However much of a changed man Jane was, he still had a reputation. He still had a tendency to let little white lies slip through, things that he thought went unnoticed. And she knew him so well that she still knew that deep down, he craved the death of Red John more than anybody else. Lisbon couldn't say that she approved of vengeance, except for legal vengeance, but she could understand the feelings behind it. But then, as far as she was concerned, most people could.

Jane's Malibu home was quiet. None of the lights were on and the curtains were all open despite it being gone midnight. His beloved car, the blue Citroen she loved and hated in equal measures, was parked on the driveway and Lisbon couldn't be sure whether or not that was a good or bad sign in this instance. She hoped that he was just out somewhere, visiting a neighbor on foot or something, but she was an experienced homicide detective. Lisbon knew bad signs when she saw them.

The door was unlocked and slightly ajar. It was then that her heart started to pound so violently that it felt like it was trying to escape from her chest cavity. Lisbon didn't rush her way through the house, instead she treaded slowly and carefully, so quietly that it was like she was trying not to wake the dead. So many ghosts of the past haunted this building, and she couldn't help but wonder what other secrets it held. At face value, nothing seemed to be much different about the place since her last visit. Except, there was a blue teacup placed on the counter in the kitchen. One of Jane's pinstriped jackets was casually tossed aside on the couch. Otherwise, the man himself was nowhere to be seen.

Instinctively, she headed upstairs. Her pace increased as she got closer and closer to the top. There was something different about Jane's master bedroom's door, she could have sworn it. Briefly, Lisbon closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. When she opened them again, she fixated on the door in question. She hadn't been imagining things; there was a note attached to it.

With a sense of foreboding, she pulled it off. She couldn't help but wonder if this was a serious case of déjà vu or…

She opened the note.

_Dear Agent Lisbon,_

_I'm sure I don't need to tell you what is hidden behind this door._

_I do not like it when beautiful women decide to ruin all my plans. It seems now, that Mr. Jane was never going to learn from his mistakes._

_The question is, will you?_


End file.
